bit of a mouthful

last to the Persepolis of your thighs I track
the diaspora of minutes through chords that are your clothes
my concept album riffs but limited to the speed of light
it won’t reach Sagittarius before I die and that’s OK
the radiant orange blue bird calls desaturate
your black lingerie falls on snow and in reverse
crows flap from a piano their wings hiss muffled air
you might decide to change your mind but I am here

surreptitious, I was distant, spooked, but now
but now I tongue your must and from your planets
slapstick oratory contorts with antic cries, it’s time to
be believed, if not believed at least incarcerated in
the contumely of your smiles, in your ordinal
last is not least and my unseemly efforts deserve their due
I flutter frantic to be felt above the din, I think
the other hands and other limbs not mine cannot be true

sum their feathery instants and the curve runs vertical, aloft
they’re lifted far beyond the evidence, the past stares down,
I’m not amused, my heart is hot, my teenage brain vibrates
in petaflops, your bubbles bounce misfortune’s bra and
on the run to Egypt with your holochild your disaster calls
are broken through with intervals, impenetrable
folds on folds of skin the entropy expands forever
it’s heaven’s narrative but nothing happens like you think

this local island Iliaded psyched up motored out, elides
the choir, pianos, crows, women children men, we’re
played for the fools we are, glad in glades not ours, sad
under lowering earthfold the magical infirmary plaited in
the compass rose, our hearts twittering twenty four seven
tweeting our minds out over dumpsters containers gliding
the mutant generations their cyborg ballet rapped spun out
over the genome balustrade the endless trivia beach every

kid knows e equals m c squared yet doesn’t believe gravity
will hurt them, the shadows on the desert floor the exploits
of comic heroes, gamer kings and long lost op shop ops
proponents of rainforest realism, they’ll search N tangles
for relata but in the end gravity will get them, too, their
primitive THIS and primitif THAT pecuneous under
under underwear for none to see but let’s get back
to the business at hand, your thighs, your music, your multi

medium. And why you’re here and lonely. From the other side
of the river a woman’s voice, a child’s pipe, child’s
cough (somehow it sounds younger) and overhead a forest
raven sigh, I’m sure I heard them once in snatches in Baroque
the father sits in the city and to and from the city while I sit
blindfolded in spring to contemplate your marks
five marks of Venus daubed, pressed on the cave wall
preceded by infinity, an indigene indignant in the dark