become the child of one o'clock.
Their movement of orphanorphanorphan )
Just to the left of this place where I
barely move, slave & children to its sadness
With my trail of molluskular zeroes lain across Buddha's cheeks )
are here only to be born
mouth an unborn dampth
Opening into the midday air father, fava
much as believe in sight,
Looked through me then into this place
where I do not exist
through the silk wrappings of my eyes!
there I was, all this time
suffer, cross over, at a wet fingertip.
leave myself behind to enter the body of one o'clock.
The tracks they've
left, black muscular tears.
I insufficiantly, inadequately suffer
2 minutes from this space
simply apart from me, simply looking with my eyes
Of tongues, licking a small sugarskull not centuries from here,
Into a slow motion of antennae,
decay of the fathers: decays
into their deepest decay:
Across pinkish, fleamarket stone,
their caress of a few small dead children to open from another place
stand at zero unended in a city of the rich without graveyards.
Through my feet, down into fleshwater, pulled back through a wet valve
beneath this pavement undrained pleasewhere
move their sexual stirring
El Lago de Dolores they called
it sleeps once more below.
wet fingertips of young girls are barely moving.
here now they move in the terminal hour of our rest!
there I was, all this time, looking for the ultimate moment!
to be, to be
Of not, of not
cay in the wrecked sunshone, these two moments
suffer, I do not suffer at a touch,
shadowrise, & sunsweetened,
Slow movements gathered
here, left one for one,
behind in the shell of this daylight
& do reach out to brush
an antenna, with a finger, a wet stirring
splayed, dark grey lips I can't touch in their shells.
Snails have clustered on the stone cheeks of Siddhartha,
one o'clock, I leave myself behind in a garden.
Thermal Signatures (#2)
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