First Aid (autumn 30)
In pain there is easily a thousand words
all manners and injury
agency shaking
around a ring a rosy
dove pintails on the tile and
her heart sung under my hands
altering the the existing wood
surrounding the
debris our scars face each other
the ribs of the new
***
But how now can we talk of late winter?
TFW: I fell in in love with the rain
and it pinned me to the bed
***
Every wound ever suffered remains within my eye
the focus
how does it feel to be injured when
decay abounds even in the seemingly defect-free
her feathers splayed out on the bathroom floor
Disc cuts close
hands survive
Wound response a reaction
process of scar
seal and close
self of the world speeds speeds upward in front of
***
Can
we overcome the past?
is it resistance then growing
Facing scars hands
moving words in variability
History simple and grown
over
and it’s not a perfect system and how
can I save the first
of the new tribe perched on the kitchen cabinet
***
Spinning
off the page
I
breathe into sentences to make
the
fracture in the story
Here’s
an iteration between the now and then now
Here’s
fist shaped pain located in the shoulder
a
small sharp sun where the wing joins
***
The original choices were gold and salt
Autumn crocus or hands plunged into a beehive
How we all believed in
pyramids and jaundice
thundergods painted copper
how we believed the doves flying out
chimeras dappled in sulfur and adrenalin
the cures in the us mail
***
Mostly
I want less thought and sorrow and more impeccable azure I want
Boundaries
as
a
practice or
the
distraction in paths
beds
and bridges
wetblown and
doubled
To
root here in exile under
the
hard blue sky
my
ragged and desperate flutter
