By Hand

You stood at some imagined
precipice complaining about
the circuitry of your skin

the way the cells were
soldered by a boy whose
father never taught him how. 

You remembered cowering
in their workshop, the mood
dull as grass or cars.

A fine edge cut against
the grain of sunshine baby
near to where you never knew. 

You remembered but you don’t
anymore and that’s the place
that touches you. 

All your resolve will never. 
You watched the transmigration
of seed to bird to particle accelerator

insentient mud born baby
gripping at the grass
startled all the moving.

Proverbs

psychedelic fuck on the outskirts
by the astrolabe 
                            sum needling
                            thorn pricks
                            out heed my
                            storm witness. 

kissing up because you need
an explanation
                            for all lone
                            giving up
                            ghosts with
                            good secrets. 

why would you do that
holds no sway
                            bear my cup
                            my bacteriostatic
                            kissing lips
                            calamity/calamity

you can live your whole life
without ever having
                            spoken a palindrome
                            named a son
                            queried a gesture
                            worn one’s coat. 

using spoons for a sextant
muddies all in tense
                            books have arranged
                            a locus where respite
                            conjures saliva
                            bowls in the throat. 

a terrible divide finds solace
in its outbreak
                            or hears a name
                            or absolves the plow
                            or nurses a goat
                            or hands you something. 

Photo by Jeff Hardi on Unsplash