Singularity
The wind not stet the harpers holding out. The wind not stet the harpers holding, the woman in the house holding branches then trees not stet on holding out out.
The holding hands with the new the girl on the hillside up. The meaning fabric tear it out the tears gone finical the high waste machinery the mechanism the tear
the holding hands the mud mud. The bed the holding frame the holding there up up tear the holding hands the people holding breath the breath coming up up the lungs
holding the lungs held the hands holding stare back waste machinery the pumping bright holding hands stare machinery the hallway the light
clothes of the holders the hands waster machinery the bachelor holding hands with the held the eyes bright on soft closed inner the beatitude the beat beat
crimp the hand holding softer the frame the bed the eyes holding hands with halls white clarity as structure wherein holding hands surcease.
Out in the blue may heft out in the may. Heft it out in the holding hands may when the held eyes in the cup of the holding tear hands the brown house the white house
the blue house the read house the green house the sky the aft husbandry the walking down the sidewalk followed by someone who is not you not never will be, sideways
rift monitor moved to the hall, sidebar grafted ceremonial, the movement of the arms into clothes, the feet into the dormant flat ground underneath the total wedge heft particle the moment you
Day
My broken chest whose pottery is nomenclature gone solid. I was going to I was going to in the breach there is a provision which is only this or if I could stand and talk to you directly. Terrified of love.
I have swallowed a large stone the carcass of possibilities. It gets heavier and heavier like writing.
In the morning she has distributed her powers and I am the recipient of a fractal, a fragment, glow in the forehead between the eyes. And yet I have not eaten her heart and was only sometimes near. The cannibalistic shut-fence between embodiment and languor.
Minutes later, I am flushed hot, then cold as stone. Holding hands in the dark. In San Francisco she turned to me remembering she was angry. Then we talk it out. The rooms in the mind, the corridors of plenty much. She read with breathy devotion, her body in an outline, and had to stop for crying which was a surprise. The lines from feel to brain direct, cloistered and the cloister completely extrovert.
At night the heat flicks on and off, the keys strophic, blood like a pan heating the clump inside the torso pulsed with ringing, stomach, held muscles, holding my head against her forehead, the life from one to the other, his smile at the chocolate, the gene sequence dialing out and out the genes in disarray you are supposed to take everything with equanimity, everything. The blue blouse light and racking, fattening up in the light room high in the ship of the house, meaning to meaning to I was going to
Lisa Samuels