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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

                   Ahora quiero que digan lo que quiero decirte
                   para que tú me oigas como quiero que me oigas.

                                                                                        —Pablo Neruda


                    a surface of boundaries is irrevocably hoarse
                    a hostage garden

                                                                                          —Jean Donnelly


                                                                                               for Doug


Above the hour                                        as usual
each cusp a probable                            as is the tug
drop of us, a minim                                 of the scar, the ceremonial
in successive generous                         permit, or just the sense
restaurants (or other                               that one is already mad
succor)                                                      beyond coil & bide.
as your travels are rust-                         The shroud is not
colored & stories                                     mine, nor brick
can't be possessed                                 nor crane.
by anyone, not                                         If we track the shirking
really.                                                         furies—disguised
If one finds                                                as hummingbird
the habit rooms                                        & banana flower—
wanting, or zopilotes                               would you then measure
gorging themselves                                or lapse there


how wicked he left me
pirating a music meant to loom & pollinate
measure each word, the sudden gesture of enclosure
what would I say?
if you were that river, or my hand
all over the city dusk & current
the beginning of this love for you was written through what was left of me

you can't possibly imagine
the endurance of doubt
shuffle & pose
the floral arrangements were unbearable
For though love has a spider's eye
To find out some appropriate pain

I am hurrying through my own dreams to get there


under teeming duress                           on the ant farm & on the runway
forgo & slumber                                      I am slang for luck
one is already mad                                I am wondering for you
one is all ready                          those dreams were portents "like it or not"
for the slots & the countries          as a particular damage or drunkennes
remnants, numbers & rescue               & reputable frame of the heart
a song tucks itself blithely                     spent by dishonesty
into offices & airports & you                  a bird in suit & a bird in a coffin
continue on as if I never watched        so if the martyr is fantastic
your story or faltered                              if the runway is ready


love cannot end us                      hiking back to where you were
the nights become slaves          last seen
to their nervous beliefs               to withered collections of books
& the moon is intolerable           & the crushed grass where we have lain
but this voracious theology        the verb shall not touch
our gold inscribed, our cipher    nor sweeten her
writing one is heavenly                our cool root, our vagabond


we knew exactly what she loved
your arms her parentheses
you are purely portrait
each curve or vein
the great estate
time has no idea
                                                                        lost her mind
                                                                        in the fern without a name
sometimes our names sleep too
dream as you once dreamed
the flowering of lawlessness
corruption of the sweet pages
waiting in the torn meadow
we loved to leave them there
                                                                            a true world
                                                                            fictively constructed

& the sane ones grew horns
our houses burned into themselves
& left silence to itself
he was eating soup with some friends
he fell in love with a woman there
a piece of dusk caught in his mouth   


the sky too wants fortune                      wearing the boots of gentlemen
& this voice, the crucible                       as children we imagined this
the sand in our eyes                              & inhabited our losses
a darker steeple shadow                      dreaming of how to adorn
left to the stairwell weather                   the impossible