--but I feel it
upping on my liver like
a bird caught and
making that terrible violent
knocking noise flapping
itself to bloody exhaustion.
ANXIOUS
That's it.
I point to the air,
at the word
floating in space
& time
& time:
Again, I'm talking to myself
in front of
a room of people--
(Quick! put that hand down.)
but can't stop
a spot in time
forgot and got
moved on
to get lost
every night, fizz
to fill the shape by
morning it's all
resolidified brick floating
in a woman shape to
nurse & chink
away, to buff
& smooth in
vain effort, to
hone an image
of all the words
I know, half
the people I know, and
some smaller bits
of world I don't.
and what emerges
is a composition unrecognizable,
a wild creature
augmented beyond
what is desirable
in space
& space
& time.
Rip it open at the liver.
Let some great eagle descend.
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