Sunday, April 01, 2012

Envoi (@ Evening Will Come)

Like a dewy abstraction, palpable
And numinous, touches feeling—
“It evanesces”—those feelings touch facts
Outnumbering them,
Hope would not be an
Ally here if I missed anything,
If this long poem—draft of a draft of a draft—were
Not the part taken for the whole
A remnant metonymizing
The accelerated time-lapse of a devastation more
Total than “the end of the world”

Mouth Writing

--for Jordan Scott

Mirror neurons or whatever
One does with the voice
Becomes body like equal
Signs convert what can’t be equal

Witness to this body what
I feel shows off this sense
Having come this far not a
Syntax of common sense

Controls its audience symptoms
Of discourse this suction
Becomes ice it becomes the waves
Lapping through what rhythm predictably

The ice was destroyed so speak
To me the analogue delay
Of voice estranged from voice
Because the mouthpiece can’t relax

The throat therefore there is no grace
No comfort for a voice
Fulfilled before its destiny was
Before we became that song fulfilled

Accidentally do we meet unredeemed
On the lips disavowed by the tongue
Like song itself lallates in the same
Malfunction for a discourse.

Mouth moves the world
And nothing else now
Are we suctioned here
Are we stuck
To the sound of ice

The scratch and scrape
That the shore of these
Sounds lapping are
Their becoming mole
When constriction becomes

Deepest freedom I finally
Found a use for throats
Other than singing
Worlds into being
Other than language being

The house of being
Do you hear me?
Do you miss your stutter?
In misplaced virtuosity
Throw your voice

Become body again
Through constriction become
The range of which
A body does waiting for
Mouth to lead.