[I Demand the World Return to my Mouth]
demand the world return to my mouth,
That this devil varnish be
stripped from things,
That objects cry out again to be
touched and tasted.
I demand a language predicated on return
The release of tongues.
I demand a language
unbroken and immediate,
That still resides in the objects it
A language that still feels.
I demand my immediate
I demand that the records of my mind be unsealed.
And that each object be spoken for by a public voice.
mere projections dissolve like a shroud of swamp mist at daybreak.
That each thing be reified.
The bed. The lamp. The door.
The cat. The book. The window.
Shall move out of the abandoned
corridors of dead language.
And abandon themselves once more
to the central pull,
Reel again in the inplacable dance of naked
I demand they tremble within this
fire-filled sheath of proteinate amory.
I demand that each
thing become encumbered with its age.
And I too am a thing.
No more alive, no less.
Filled with forceful voices.
time, of age.
Thrown without asking among these islands of tissue
and seas of crimson salt.
I demand that the world cry out
its idealization and reclaim its thingness.
e a c h l e
t t e r b e c o m
e v i s i b l e a g a i n. .
full upon this bed.
in every limb, the center of each nucleus
towards the center of the
against woven fibers of tense linen.
Every small motion shedding
a storm of cells.
Heroic husks, their structure yet
I feel the tide of light rushing from the lamp, each
calorie of the burning bulb,
Falling into the white undulousness
of the comforter,
That burns the folds of its definition.
sepia and honey pools that lay among the folds.
I gather them
around me, around the slight damp of my stretching feet.
again into sleep.
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