23 April 2019

Postcard 165

Catastrophic -- the floor is always there

Inevitable -- the pull that pulls that pulls the pull

Abrupt -- hard stop

Shatter -- crack crunch crash bash smash

Fragmentation -- each shrapnel piece explodes away forlorn

Scatter -- light catchers all caught and rainbow cut

Diminished --  name is lost in splinters formless, silent

Diasporic -- swept into piles,
in the corner,
under the filthy stove,
cutting into bare feet
Bits of you in LA,
bits of you in NYC,
bits -- somehow -- in Budapest,
bits of you clear at sea,
bits of your underground.
A sliver, red-skin-held, in me

Irrevocable -- assemble with strong adhesive, a new named thing

Constant -- floor

Postcard 164

Do you know your given name, 
can you spell it?
Can you pronounce it, 
give it utterance?
What are you called -
- more names than one
Can you hold them all (at once)?

In the naked silence 
and in the open vowels 
you hold a mighty secret
A secret is a power 
like a charged bomb
Hold the percussion in your chest -
- lungs vacuum burst
shock-waves through your throat
expanding -- a glotal mass

Your bright tongue and soft teeth
consonate like shrapnel
Your name a suspense and then
a crack -- arrival

How does it impact and settle?
That vulnerable moment,
eyes rolling about searching
a bit of spittle at the corners
of your working/resting mouth

What ears bend to your names?
what eyes close to implication?
what hearts beat with memory and promise?