Read the HoboEye interview with Simon Perchik >
*
Like a warden at the evening meal
I body count :these stars
have something to hide --only at night
my phonograph again that Angel Eyes
as the maze engraved in a tire
filters each nail till the sting
circles higher and higher, ropes dangling.
All these knots. The set
healing on my floor, trussed
taped, glued, its top caked open
--what's to escape :that song
is on its third engine.
I'm used to my room going black
spin blind as if the fuse
blew itself up taking the sky with it
and I count without looking up one
then wait. It takes a while
but at least who else, what else
how else one is there. I never reach two.
The sun plunges once its black hood
is untied and light everywhere broken
--my Angel Eyes, Angel Eyes, Angel Eyes
reeling, snarled :its treads worn down
to almost a whisper.
I can't even see the pieces.
Escape from what!
The claw I thought would puncture
licks the wound, singing, singing :Angel
Eyes
prefers this blindness --even I
wait in the trenches, in the cliffs
falling from her mouth, from the sky
not yet worn through from the cone
coiling tighter and tighter above its prey
--its road is on a map
on a song dead weight :the stillness
steadied by something hid, that outnumbers
her voice, one and Angel Eyes.
*
If I closed my eyes, if the dark
could fall downhill
as stars still roll to a stop
and I dust myself, scrape off
the dried tears trying to weep again
to fly back
though my eyes are shut
and the world each night
practices its wings to come, wobbles
till the light claws through
the way moths learn first to fly
-if I closed my eyes your eyes
could be darker, could see
the loneliness taking shape
winding around itself :the nights
tighter and tighter till even your arms
and nothing hurts. And you watch
and everything hurts :the harness
a seeing-eye dog wears, your arm around me
and we could walk. You laughed, "Here
is a place to lift your foot
here you rub my nose,"
here the darkness that touched my leg
never lets go, became my footsteps
leading me -what does it take
to lift my foot without the Earth along
as if each stone was hollow
with room enough for us
to walk our way out -if you closed your lips
if something like wings could fold :lakes
soaking up each stone
rolled to a stop underneath
-if the-, if, if, if
if I could rip through one kiss
to drink the sky black and my breath
gently mending the Earth
and your arms pressing together in
loneliness
that would look like a stone only older.
*
Eight months your heart
that blinking flag
mountaineers still carry to the sun
-you came down
with only a crib sheet
folded around the light
-it's enough! The air
ignites, cries out
pours down your bones
gutting your throat.
You drink maps
waiting for a name
named Eight.
The July you couldn't find
looms in front
covered with snow -Eight
just born and your heart
one month short
rises as each morning the sun
somehow must be carried down
tiptoe, asleep on its side
and the July you couldn't climb
will always be too dry, too hot
your skin burn out
-a druggist walks past
wraps something for shade
and inside the jar you hear that fire
folding around your name.
July. The highest month
lost, climbing to claim the sun
without you, step by step
like a small breath
tossing among the snowflakes
or the beautiful shadow from your heart.
*
As a narrow breeze
peeled from some stone
every night a comet
wandering its rind and pits :an orchard
thinner and thinner
trailing itself, circling itself
sliced like the skin from an apple
soaking in water -each night
as if this stone in my hand
was made from your shadow
and your eyes like twins
coming from nowhere to open my hand
to get a better look
to lift the edge.
It's night
as kids will duck for fruit :the sun
swallowed with some sky
that tasted like water
and this stone no one sees anymore
holds down your shadow
and mine -nothing moves
except a stone
carried one shadow to another
scattering its dust
to rebuild the world, the hearts
Gemini once carried
and every night I call your name
twice, breathe into your name
as if a door would open
and a house appear, you
can't breathe out and the night
cuts everything in half, this breeze
never again two by two :each raindrop
alone, gusting under the ground
under my arms still carrying
this stone and doll-like evenings.
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