an expected trickle of silence, dysphasia, and misunderstanding stopped by oxygen
the wrinkles, the dry river-beds,
of human flesh, red
or the steady crumble
on the carpet
of the door
I couldn’t hear the smoothness
leave me when you take yourself home.
seamless pools in crystal light
saying everything that matters
opaque locks of hair, un-cut
milky silk, shining in serums
scratch silver, oil the hinge.
what don’t you know,
disconnected and clear, dull, perfect
and down the bright sky,
rolled up balls of Tokyo, making their way
shooting up, deep in the earth
sharpening in, over hands and tongues
I was on seven squares of darkness
it was nineteen-seveny-nine.