With Each Vertebra I Remember Another Way I Murdered You

Tomorrow, I cut each of your fingers at the webbing and you cried until the poison had sprinted its hot paths through your central nervous system and jogged you into a hallucinogenic fugue that had you laughing and trying to sign with your dangling blooded hands for hours before you got all sad and threw up and died.

A week from now, I coloured you spots with lye and water and burnt you so sweet you thanked me before you passed; you were such a pretty jaguar, all redded like a canopy riddled with sunset.

In a month, I fasted for seven days and then called out the great name Kukulkan and in a feathered coil it held you until your white hands lifted up and grasped, each, one fork of its tongue and Kukulkan drew you into its mouth and vastly swallowed.

In a year, I counted each bone in your body with a long needle and remembered only later that I had suffocated you and all that poking and prodding was in vain, or a mistake, or a desperate clawing hope that some pressure point would pull you back to life.

But next second, one blink from now, with a whistle of teeth, I will forget every bone; with the Maya, I will step away into the forest; I will tread on the bones of the earth and cherish its breath and I will not have to be civilized and maybe I will be able to stop--finally--killing you all the time and get some rest.

Mouth & Branch

On the colour of trees I have this to say:
The rivulets of bark are slipped into structure and tricked crystalline by age.

On the bird mouths and the green-jay's call I have nothing to say.

With the cloud-stacked horizon bloodied again, what is the touch of shadow
curled over bark scales and tree feathers and all chloroplasted over?

Is there a tired sun engine? Is it lightest in the slow turn of gears? Glycerine springs
in burning spurts and we win the trees in the Pyrrhic fashion. On the ashes I
will not speak; on the lights I have nothing to say.

When tired, calculate

Stabilize circumference matrix transformations for rotations to detourne
turbulence. Stable marks for gun-shot; races, sprints, blood
pounding up from hoof and into heart beat down again, thud.
Spin the races wracking & leap long falling to, fingerly, miss

fjdslkajfsdfdsklfjdskljfdssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
dssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
dsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
sdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddsdds

Catch instead the glitch notched in jitters up or down till the belt
loop snugs neckly.  Long to linger, each finger flips or toggles
in the precise language of mechanics and judo and percussion -
which is not music.  Music is the lungs, and remembering how
your whole body is for running, and for squeezing out with that
belt.

Falling, positively derive, and mathematically jerk, precisely described,
circumscribed in numbers remembering each small twist by matrix, a final
drop in the spiked 3rd derivative, a moment crystallized in mechanics so
staccato that, almost, a discord can imagine. But it is not music and
drumbeats stutter, slow

tomorrow morning confined to graph paper, and plucked
point by point map from threespace this holographic universe
flat in the singular whole, holes flushed to points and lines and
on one plane only creeping with maniac worms or stared
at by cosmologists forever.

Ornithology

all yawn the mouth and puffed with berries
with the cloud spout shuffling
and the mouth has kissed and burnt itself slight with white steam
left a linger to be puffed
and the taste of red-clay

Remember all kinds of birds stacked in bookshelves and
crammed down alleyways and the feathers are all berry-hued
or plain white in coats and always pushing through

cataloging sheets of beaks and chirps stuck on pages or pulled
to other countries than their own, cataloging currents of remiges, and rectrices, and coverts
and all too streamlined to be held but by the wind

and fingers coax, stutter, and pluck, reddining
note by note and the puffed yawn, mouthed round berries
bobbled and jostled. Dropped tones spun in octaves smelling of the sear
of mouth flesh and it hurts to not know how, just yet, to remember
cracked stalactites and ice of the body crafted over amphetamine momentum