~ for Rob Halpern
"Psyches are butterflies, but souls are also bees."
--Robert Duncan
"How weapons die every day"
Undeadenned to life's ringing
Furious buzz of telepathy
Calls from our "future dead"
In any desert of this "stench"
Neither here nor sometimes spectral
Wax contents our doubles
The ways each murder remarks.
"The desert became the past"
We are this heat-seeking and *I* is that "X"
Of combs cacophonies and cells of bees
How come we've come to this
Measure at wax atelos inflict
'Friendly fire' in dawns of disappearance
What futurities were still ours to inflect?
"I wanted to take a picture but all I could do is dance."
I want to feel your softer targets
Softer fingers on the buttons of that
Non-site sighted not being when we were
Here together abuzz in which forms
Joy arrives in becoming husbandry
They're "every name in history" thus number must be
A place of "stench" dissembled
True names redoubled in "sunlit holes".
"For they were the dead, and vengeance was their life."
What eyes are not in-sightful
What *I* "not any longer I" yet
"Entity" now "semi-intelligent"
Like weapons dying into a *beyond*
It broke was actually beside
Like certain dissolves repeat
A second time seen from a vantage
Of backs 'out-of-body' experience.
"It's as if the gulf were without history and not one of its effects."--Rob Halpern
Missiles sing of *me* half-lives
And residual deaths if ever
To feel these firsts of distant futures
The past anterior so pronominal related like.
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