What Is You, Heart?




where did you go       a glimpse

                                      caught

                                                a figure in a night

dress moving through the door

frame of night—

a panic sudden lying

on the floor—waiting

the drum beat carried with the drum into the distance—

over regions, a person stretched disparate
and continuous

as humidity





Index
           of panic in

night contrast between feeling
the floor and the intrusion

looming
wild petal open

curling fingers the flower beckon

draw in, grow wide and violet






heart of dog food sculpture
    sliding out of mold
colonizes  

    White dress of a night            

            ( cannot find       

  Language      
      to decry:  the panic of
  the petty    person\al

without scope to calm

*
Balloons

filled with hairspray and dog-smoke
and cigarette meat in the pathetically grandiose
town hall of the small, provincial town of the heart
of the mind in the space wt that cannot be
lifted

of sleep   sleep where
scramble
so thoroughly the so thoroughly laid
plans laid in the contrasting day

space—

dichotomy and my family waiting in lines
that for being dumb do no less hard strike the heart
that open to the horror of global context
    glimpses of (
) really ///

a mud’le turn over    the stone
            bash compass
unfold the skin
back from the face-bone
  skull   and only a skull
for a home and a home of waiting
 in panic   frozen to the floor
     like a spill
       like piss
spilled on the floor
spread to the door the dress pulled
the drum through and only a slip with no body
a glimmer behind closed eyes cannot call on any comfort of scale
beyond even this is nothing compared to the something
feral something lurking in the petals of the flowers of
  evil   that people
the garden
that is the only option
contains beauty compromised
all the regularity of the factory
and the sacrifice of labor
of a good payin job


all the regularity of wild
    thoughts compressed
like a shifts worth
   of silver cans stacked
into rows
  a monumental prose


Like, a shifts worth of silver cans
 contain   and do hold in rows
 mountains of dog  meat

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