tuck into crook of ceiling, i’m the nocturne missing a chord i’m wooing the late creatures with an incomplete sound could stay here ’til morning where’s made to catch a sound of any quality i’ve used every door in the place, they all lead back inside
the ears on the mantle, not originally made to hear me, absorb the little noises my body makes, devise a shitty sonar to remind me i’m being reflected with no map for my return
under the ears, if we’re skipping errant senses: layer of metal layer of wood mind your voice: one absorbs & one amplifies if you say help me only the furniture will keep your secret
years later you’ll leave a mark where a mark’s due you’ll notice the box wasn’t for holding anything you never found the courage to crawl inside, you never learned who would affix a sheet of metal to a slope having pounded it into a sea of faces, who are they
after the road, the pass after the pass, the steep nothing, ravine for days, all days who go uncounted, some days too harsh to number. in the winter it’s the alternate ways and the unrailed ice, no one to stop you, side step ash and chain. having never been the one behind the wheel, having been set on a blizzard road uncountable times & ways. here’s a place with no grip, here’s a slope for only uncontrolled sliding, here’s an animal’s engine useless against a fact. the road says down, you bail. the road says no road, you drop, my hand on your cheek, my oh, my love. four of you rolling away from the engine, forming a new engine, you & you & you &. there was a choice to make, the choice was go or go.
(place this card both above and below the house, relative to other seasons)
before the driveway, the road before the road, the mountain roads, dozens of them, unrailed and dead steep, twist-turned and eerie quiet. in the summer it’s the impossible grade full of smoke & beer having injured the metal, having overheated the animal’s engine, having slid down silt: tires slide, sneakers, cloud of what’s going to make this easier on all of us, cloud of don’t pour water directly on the metal of it, spit a clot & keep going, says up where the engine says down & somewhere below here the logging roads & somewhere below that a mile marker & somewhere below that a dirt road copying a creek bed’s unnatural ridges, there was an animal engine here too, the rumor goes there was water here, you can stuff stones in your pockets, you’ll never get them all home.
(place this card both above and below the house)
🐝🐝🐝 Use the promo code NAPOWRIMO to get 20% off during the month of April! (Bundle special, used books, and art prints excluded.) Several of our poets will be posting daily drafts on the blog all month long. Follow along, and see napowrimo.net for more info about this this annual event. Dismiss