before the night's open spaces. The moon's an orange, open
wound. Still and clear. I get good reception. Talk
Net, the news, two cuts from "Kind of Blue" - that threshold
between cool and new. I can't step out of the world without it.
It soothes me , this necromancy, in stereo,
blah, blah, easy listening and dread,
it doesn't matter. I love the vacant embrace, shadow,
ion, grace note . I can't be Faust without it.
Sometimes the autistic panic from the changing shapes
of clouds. They want eternity with bounds, they want it
now. Heaven's four beats to the bar and no cheating,
otherwise heaven's another name for the pit.
It was difference not divinity I wanted.
I wanted a lesser violence .
She wanted the body worshipped, it became clear
to me , for its halo of hair and its limp from the wrestle
with angels. Desire is a shitty little history ,
our regret, our art.
Fade
ill:
A man sleeps
after the night long seance with the radio . He dreams
a penis is grafted to his ribs and he's bleeding.
He wakes to fields radiant with rain,
Bindweed, Bitterweed, Everlasting,
the edges of the meadow electrified for horses
and the long-lashed, moon-eyed, Brown Swiss.
Clipped timothy and sweet grass, a man
can receive. A man can be received. She wanted clear
distinctions between herself and the rain,
it became clear to me .
