The pin
and bone
percussion
of my wife’s inverted spine
plays across the sheets
in knives, unspindles
its [[collection ]]
down this empty
hall of bandages, to tributary
rooms, each a fold
for serenades of beige
enclosures, canisters
of lung and heart
all working one
[[horrific body]].
The final filaments
of God burn away
with fever.
There is no lesson
in the blood, crystalline
or pure, waiting
for the titer
of sudden [[sorrow]].
stitches
(live:11s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[(link-goto:"staples", "x")]]
(live:10s)[x](live:9500ms)[x](live:9s)[x](live:8500ms)[x](live:8s)[x](live:7500ms)[x](live:7s)[x](live:6500ms)[x](live:6s)[x](live:5500ms)[x](live:5s)[x](live:4500ms)[x](live:4s)[x](live:3500ms)[x](live:3s)[x](live:2500ms)[x](live:2s)[x](live:1500ms)[x](live:1s)[x](live:500ms)[x](live:11s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[.]]
She absorbs
the needle
like a [[dusty record]]—
the constant tremor
laps grooves
of flesh to pen her
hidden song, coils
of cells [unfolding]<unfold|
(click:?unfold)[(transition:"fade-in")[for the prick
of foreign flower, stem
upended, blooming
in the body,
whole,
a cloud
beneath the [[firma]].]]Myself, more minor
now, the site where *wound*
assumes its proper work—
for one way
there is order, all
potential tension
binding, like line
around a circle;
the other way, a breech,
or surface rent, fresh
perimeter of violence, or [[trace]]
of trench.
Coda:
The humming—
bird plays trumpets with his need—
le, leaves small fragments of his me—
ter, in the winds that touch the flow—
er.
(live:5s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[(text-color:gray)[Nathan Altice 2009, 2015
metopal.com
@circuitlions(stop:)]]] No,
the red distills
our new course
in colors:
tinctures of iodine,
white and red counts,
white and gray
matter. Her coursing
(hook:"broken")[(link-goto:"broken", "broken")] meter, thick and
thinning. Noise
in the blood—un
(live:5s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[fastening—un(stop:)]]
(mouseover:?broken)[(t8n:"fade-in slow")[raveling—]]no (link:"care")[clock] no (link:"code")[clock]
no [[clock]] no (link:"center")[clock]. No,
the red distills
our new course
in colors:
tinctures of iodine,
white and red counts,
white and gray
matter. Her coursing
broken meter, thick and
thinning. Noise
in the blood—un
fastening—un
raveling—
Outside, on the body,
we fear the murder
of a tailor, reborn
a careless seamstress, Ariadne
scribing flesh
with sweet
[[reminders]] of her favor: Outside, on the body,
we fear the murder
of a tailor, reborn
a careless seamstress, Ariadne
scribing flesh
with [[sweet
reminders]] of her favor:
Pain forgives
no syntax,
bores its entryway
and exit
with simplicity
in (hook:"transit")[(link-goto:"transit","transit")], like ships
descend a cylinder of glass—
(mouseover:?transit)[(transition:"fade-in")[the skies convexed
through metered
windows, southern
slanting—]]Pain forgives
no syntax,
bores its entryway
and exit
with simplicity
in transit, like ships
descend a cylinder of glass—
the skies convexed
through [[metered
windows]], southern
slanting—
Such a slow invasion.
(live:2s)[(t8n:"fade-in slow")[Her body pulls(stop:)]]
(live:4s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[them inward, like Christ(stop:)]]
(live:6s)[(t8n:"fade-in slow")[fulfills the spear, like carpels(stop:)]]
(live:8s)[(t8n:"fade-in")[draw the [[stamen]].(stop:)]]