Intimate Aura
Prologue
on the slippery slate
you and i join at the throat and the eye
slash each other with knives of mist again to gain
and again break the brain-trodden welps
playing lost names with the bedmates of slander
each name lying to its neighbour and each
neighbour lying in the dark pool at artery's end
in the din of no sound and no time
hook through the lips
ground into pollen grown heavier than flesh
to begin to begin to
begin to begin to begin to begin
stop right there
there's no one here
a position marker
nothing more
only a body stands on this common floor
mouthing into our ancient air
these alphabetically assembled ssssssownnnndzzzz
spurting from flesh
he who was here is gone
past the reedy edges
dissolved around a corner
send a signal bent back
into the throat's raw flask
charged through the hair from the flung fields
beyond the municipality of masks
teasing scenes in and out of the perplexing anarchy
begin with ....
Sleep
No chill so deep as the hybrid, boundary brain
forever failing flights in dreamsong fall
so limits blur and run like paint
so things of light find other coasts
entombed alive in the yawning web
meld madness into raving grace
chosen, fallen, flung and sailed
install in soil--then close the gate
so snug in the wakewalker's shadowed foot.
The woof and warp of nightfall's bidden bounty
burial blanket blown down the fissured brain
in time in place in the well of stupor
in the wide corner of gravity's keep
Friends as strangers wait in the wanting rooms
coined into the lexicon of the shroud
Apostate's face 'neath the cover of sleep
burrowed, hidden, lost and filled;
I see many years spill from my vein.
Around the hallowed house the whispers watch
toss a crumb through a wall of stone
enter softly the brooded bed of tales
entered we utter the tale's tall tribe
and in the hills heaved into words
frost gathers like fingers on the windowed pain.
Take a trip to the farside of your name;
slip through the stain on the birthing room's wall.
Who knocks at your ear? Who tugs on your door?
Stirring
Washed in winter's creep our lusty echo tolls
our winded kite-blown breath heaves
when by our graveside marrow-born
when from the long dawn driven
homesick in a wakened house
burned through the anointed skin.
In chorusing, rousing, spewing hours
the intimate aura within the bone
climbs the stairs in the dreamer's ear.
Swarming the mind-fending flim flam gong
her willing well-wrung tongue flings;
for telling's all the story trails
for tales told at wanting's wake
the cool signature's sudden face
scrawls across the eyelid's dome
sounds its air to the sleepstruck one
south of the moon and east of the chill
halts midway down the birth canal.
Who knew the long-chimed speechless sound
could ring through the feet and arms and teeth?
surreal killer in the drawbridge dream
serial teller with a punch rhyme tongue
Seven stones speak in eleven dreams
balanced, gracious, insistent, uneven
private vision in public account.
Tell all the speaking stones their names
and call all of the alphabets to shore.
Coverup
Through time-rooted cells the soft shrug dives
our criminal sheen in cunning escape
if deeded only in a birth-blind bluff
if hidden in the lost line drawn
suckling on the clay-cold foot
arm's width from the spiralled womb
the song of the eye plucked from the hand
severed the ear and wrote a world
bereft, bereaved in the unsheltered chance.
Through hooded, dead-flung hearsay slung
in the quartered sun and the mid-day moon
though altered in brow and fused with day
though faltered on the shifting plan
talk-worn street in the risen room
downsized upwind at yonder's gush
in boundless, photon-babble buried
charged, bolted, sprung and sung.
One fell swill bought the bound bone snap;
the shards sown grew in the empty face
in the chasm of the sweet, sad stream
in the buoyant, anchorless, heartlong hurdle
fed, gagged and riddled with words
bawling in the smoldered clutch
all shapeful between our salty thighs
an ache so wide it bled.
We longed and signed the book.
Investigation
Behind the watchword, catchphrase spell
who countersigns a world's remains
so non-local locus smiles
so fractaled feints of form
never close the climate's call
but hug our blurry atom-hearts
ride past signs stooped on tidal trails
to touch that rips the world's long ebb
and break the founding sound in two?
There's no lullaby in the sleep-kept house
for fleshers crawling through the wellhead
through the tearing trough
through the ever ending labour
flung from the calendar's infamous anterooms
tumbled through the spiny strands of orbit
the nighttide excursions back to the waterfall
sink in the pale memory of now.
As praised ones cling to the rung clock tower
dragged across the slippery face
as if the hook came from the lips
as if the lips knew how
before the orgasm and the sheet
lwere laid upon an electric night
the joke in the script blinked round the ear;
the gone ones gave the found world words
and the artful burlesque unheard in the eye.
Discovery
In private veins a shooting shadow runs
the faceless, nameless staring stare
inside the confidential pulse
inside a buried speaker's mouth
filing through the hungry skull
down double-sided quantum spoors
brain cord caught in the mystic snare
eye behind the heartbeam starshake stand
breaks the stumbled crypt in five.
In night's mid-sweat the finding futures chime
cheating even clockwise reigns
though flung through aftertime's puzzle
though rocked in cloudborn children splattered
spawned of secret ghosts
columned on the very edge of space
hearing the world in the wet of the tongue
in the shape in the ear the oracle beckons;
we kiss through the skin of centuries.
In the style-patterned season-speak
weighing truths in attic's flesh
all dressed and robbed, all lost to trials
all deadlong, heartful, thoughtless flight
guesswork's dread wed to the pitch;
fleet foot figments flock like trees
ruptured by Gödel and his stare
a stain so sweet it wept
peeling moss from the all-touching dream.
Zero Point
To the billowing arms of the uncovered house
the ever-fasting, lovetorn stairs
into the fountained, breathing ears
into the sky-soaked, rainward hair
the jangled, cleaving grave
there go all our names and airs
to once more brake the season's round;
my noose creaks in another frame
and leaks through time-swarmed winds.
Met at the zero point in heart-pit spate
ambushed in the jaws of Cantor's proof
by the changeling's uncouth claims
by naked, scouring scraps
hasty shrug to all those needful lies
with a twist of time-shredding theatre
warped between the lairs of history
comes created, the bride to the aroused house
she speaks the tongue of the homecoming.
From the day-shaped taste of the witnessed womb
wear-torn spark cast in the cleft of always fatal birth
though covering bench and bedclothed eye
though filling the atom-breathing mist
disrobed, dumbfounded, confounded, forgotten
barrelhoused naked in a mothering maze
hours are squared then cubed
endings pouring through into geneses.
In private, mind-fucking sight, the pendulum spins.
Kiss
Wail till passion cracks bedlam's siege
no more sad prophets calling bets;
Did we leave my body in the sounded turn?
Did we die there in the captured bed?
Did worlds dissolve at end-night's sigh
in the bardo-blown, come-home streets
calling cards littered from room to road
to the self-drenched daylight stake
and a kiss in the ear of the naked foundling?
You turning through me plumb my told time
our sands pumped through belly and hand
to pledge outrageous alliance
to track your heart through my own born beat
in pathways of dense elegance
to curl and climb, to leave our berth
in the forehead's wide-windowed wake;
neither in nor out, but spun at the mid-point
and confide a din in the story-telling glance.
You whisper through my brain stain streak
below the broil of daylight's blinding brim
to launch yesterday from today's hub
to send a scandalous thigh-high touch
over the rolling, hip-strewn bed
and the astonishing lip-wet plunge
so our runes run down the neurons' flame
all moaned, droned, hummed and howled.
A torrent greets the verging touch.
Benediction
i love the way you wear your atoms
roam among your read, flush stories
cursing prized grief
sown to the flesh-ships scudding
down from the swallowed sea
the cuss-blind kiss of anyone named or not
the plague of answers born and lost
land-call of the red milk clay
the heart-stone quarries
and the whole prodigal universe straggling home
to our arms.
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