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This character reclines into a sentence:
by the fire the safety whirling about
or weather balloon mounts the lighthouse,
a pleasant australian guides us to the
rubber rafts, marking, notation, a familiar
quotation, sinking into punctuation, a moat
surrounds us, while you lie sleeping, I describe
your face, in the drift of sheets & pillows,
a lighthouse with turbine lamps, in daytime
the sun lights the glass on fire, the fishing
fleet, by regarding the darkness, the pupil
becomes perceptive, a highlighter, a question
mark, some pleasant grecian slipped this
into our purse, declined to teach us about
worldliness, some peace corps volunteers
trashed the place, somebody's speaking
on the telephone, somewhere is that phone
booth, and making out inside, I can't make
out inside, the interior of this paragraph,
beside the telephone receiver, some pleasant
turn of phrase led us to this bed, and while
we lie here making out, the dog-earing
happens to this fine book, the silverfish
crawl along the margins, the pages cut
and uncut, dent, brittle, sticking to hands.
Reading Postures 3
this sort of position uncomfortable allows me to speak
more comfortably with you, the one I love, this placement
of arms upon legs and cheeks upon mouths, and tumbled
together like clothes in a dryer, gives a permission as free
as a dog in a park, or picking up a hand and letting it
drop away, and then grabbing it again, tight enough, to
feel all the extremities & the weather changes, while draped
over two beings think of several more and not just positions
but locale, as of this writing, we can think of several more
museums with exhibitions of bodies in just about every
sort of posture, and while admiring their spines, one eye
wanders off, as the french say, to check out the small lake
shimmering thru the artificial ballrooms & bedrooms &
rooms of reoff
ception & even the small shopfront hidden away
here down this hallway, ripped off during some war and brought
over in pieces, just like the multistory wooden lattice stolen from
a church, whether it was bought, stolen & tossed on waves
like matchsticks, like wood, with gilded corners and eggshell
touches and the artist's name hidden somewhere like a tattoo
somewhere on your body, some unexplored fold, some intrusion
of ink & spray, some artist touched you before I touched you,
some boat brought you over the waters.
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