Cur.tain by Zachary Hamilton

We’ve seen armchairs yarned in factories
as they take away great grandmother
with cancer of the lungs, a string of long
fluid woven into her assembly

apt for a tapestry, a long room
that is woven of her memorized thread of choice.

A Volta television swamp floats until breath emerges
gentleman like, heated from its length of rope nerve.
Six looping pythons in one belt

4:44, a tilted mirror and
a bookshelf.

iii. Theat.rics doub.led (/when spoken to/) four.teen mirr.ors

The radio has got to quit following people
into my secrets – I have seen the evidence of other shadows doubling
with these voices on the radio.

A four head of micron,
swallowing outer arm crazy springs.
Our life hair challenges them,

Marquis Sylvania, an albatross equilibrium. Harsh bone
puzzle hands twinkle down, to plant
a Hammond organ growing from the soil

(hours) plastic touching    our childhood.

He can play very well,
his fingers ripe, his hands
a harm of fire towers
giving birth.
The year is reconsidered
from a palace in the rosemary

our mice neighbors twinkle fingers up
proposed leaf ( / ) long shapes in hand-assembly.

The shouting, undressing     old pin point swing sets singing     a shallow end of the swamp

our pearl necklace –
ink warped leaf fabric

rude shelters, but argyle     (deceased)     +program.

Four headed television rug
arcs to the necklace pillow butter, luminous
hallows inside letters chiseled of ice weave,

foam reflection –
lamp shade on lamp shade,
tan pillow case, mirror maze.


A fragile, breakable exhale comes in
through a python repetition of half eyes.

The silk in my feeling
is spinning anchors –
one way spatial relations,

a low cloud stripes up sticks,
a life can be a lovely beginning.

A lewd, distracted light emerges,
I am resting the speaker to your velvet thigh
all rosemary arranged in radio, red language.