I said, Rosabelle,
Young men are not allowed to
laugh during the first cycle, The
Old Man Stories
for any sign
: trumpet, slate,
a floating table,
planchette, a distention
of electromagnetic waves, a disturbance
in persistence of vision, a variation in the
luminance of the raster, a sheeted tumescence
in the pixels, a(n umbra) in
(machinam). The green ghost
of a distant
Thought and Memory black wings close the circle,
and looking lunge into the world to pick the carrion of
daily news. One-eye waits anxious lest Memory not return to him
There was a boy
in Jakarta, a child, piss
an ancient mahogany tree, who appeared to him thusly:
pocong (′poah·chong) n. ghost of a bound
and shrouded corpse seeking release
kunti: (kün·′tē) n. ghost of a child dead at
birth become woman, opens
your belly, devours you
old mahogany tree.
hundreds lined up
or Fatima or Chicago, where
salt-stain Virgin on the underpass. The
town fathers removed the tree. The spirits
the Virgin appeared as a salt-stain cunt
on the underpass. The town fathers cut
it down, and announced The spirits
have moved to the other
tree but we cannot
cut down all the trees.
And so it is.
Not long ago no land was to be seen.
Then there was a little thing on the ocean.
This was all open sea.
And Raven sat upon this.
'Become dust.' And
it became Earth.
under the ice sheet the jagged peak, the ghostly slopes, we map the scars of tectonic disruption with radar, magnetometers. They are pristine, preserved from erosion. Swarm into a crack in the ice, see the world at the beginning, see the past preserved
Raven will take you now,
to the dead, to Memory.
You must understand, though,
Raven is a liar, a trickster, and a great shapeshifter.
with normal eyes, especially in the
Upon Cuchulainn's death, the Morrigan
perched on his shoulder in the form
of a raven. He asked no question.
He answered, I shall perish. Read more of.
Read the mouth, (and
still tree-tops against still later
against and under white, they say—
I will try to catalog the ghosts):
you left a crowd of voices, indistinguishable
from the falls, where lovers go
to disappoint themselves, until
we pin the probabilities like moths,
collapse and resolve them with
our attention, into a chorus of demons chanting
one left before you, made of flesh, whose touch I know well, lost years ago, now sticks and slides, merges
one or many, a shadow
you, in a glass, a feather made of smoke, just like touching you. I mean, it goes away from me.
if you are to understand the heart,
You better understand the
the sino-atrial node, the Perkinje fibers
the Frank-Starling law (the more you fill, the greater your capacity to empty), the heart,
as Raven, a great trickster, a shapeshifter, a liar, containing no secrets
(All secrets are written on the skeletal muscles, in striations, in movement)
The heart will take you now,
to the dead, to Memory.
Raven, often accompanied by Wolf, loves a war as a banquet
or, wings clipped, alone, locked in the Tower, holds the safety of the kingdom
After a history of
After Depression and then the large apple tree
containing the stumps, husband!
Go out of you. Live.
we descend to night, where there is no law but ghost-ridden sex, cruelty, and metamorphosis.
drought lifts the skirt of Lake Texoma and reveals the graves between its legs. 389 forcibly moved in 1931. It was devastating, They had no choice.
You were here, but I could not find you. Could not hear you or see you, just knew that you were just out of reach, infinitely separated. Fog flowed like spirit bodies, a crowd of the damned bent upon itself to fill a channel, to run like a river in which we swam, or drowned.
In which you, and I, swam, or drowned.
In which you, and then I, swam, or drowned.