Clasped. Shiver ways through liquored lines
long streams of steam and whiskey warped,
weft pulled and wrung around. Closely, observe.

In Amsterdam, on a may morning, perhaps just before 10,
there was a girl. She walked in two steps the length
of her shadow. In three steps the length of the length.
Craftily, deep in animal cunning, she clicked twice her heels
and held close. Another time, perhaps.

When Maeve was seven her hair, lifted in circlets of stiffened tow
traced listed lines, circumnavigations of stars and stark
trims of tomorrow morning.

Now, she is sitting with back to blackened window glass as
stretched turns and , smooth , shudder , perhaps not smooth but rather
smoothed as oblivion edges out the harsher edges under its omnipresent
roughness as sickened, you no longer notice the line of spittle dripping
after torrents of

the water metaphors perhaps break down, but it is sure that she was not well.

I hear waltz time trance, here in the walls
there transients they're licked for tricklines
summoned on stirred spindles on webworks of wave and wave in wave
cricked notions of still cracked them bent back them then
slept the water, slept the water slow and soft
swept the water, sweat, the water low about face and
fracture lines leaking salt, leaking into gore in the
morbid mass of
masticat and
clumped muscled law

Hollow Mouth

Chords of Tongue in its echo chamber
against the sound of
stutters of
corded layers, lisped and scripted

in the thin film of the air, the
tone of - perhaps for a moment consider -
the beating of breath, almost too faint
almost a shimmer of substance a
monofilament of sensation slipping
this perhaps hollows the mouth further
and

entrapped exclamant. Cold in filters too
swift to follow swifts tumble in the overspace
in cathedral, in a vault of breath and
back, turned

A Lasting Committment

am veins, etched to inverse arm
slipped like scratch-lines down
morning, vain, marks and slumps
lumps of knot. perhaps some new
intersection in the blood where
an overpass coil, a kinked hose
a tourniquet of twisted streams
in turn tourniqueted, too. torn

crimped in couplings of statosphere
what drip? what stut
terred
fall, flip
cups catalyzing, crisp, or perhaps
merely crusted, over rot that
seeps and eases into clouded threads

Arbitration

Filament considered burnt when whisped to
an ash of light a cingle sinder snift from
centered darkness and
faded like a gel cut light line to
a single moment of data
a sharp sliver of - just barely -

A catacomb lifts up dark nights and dripped

Perhaps I should begin again

In a filament's fire symbols shiver out
in dust and ash and dripping wax symbols shiver out
In each line you misread, in the smith waterman of stars

I forget when thrip, drip, slip
I forged a symbol shivered in stone and out smith sharp silver into a single moment