***prelude***

A chalice, a bodice, a carcass: hollow things
Blood moon & broken stone hearken to the lost land
i knew you ever
Trained eye and steady hand. A rustle, a bustle, tattered lace, torn smile
another off-the-cuff remark strikes sideways into the dark, no remorse, no hustle.
i loved you ever
A dorset, a corset, unsettled, ruffled, an insect who cannot turn over, the lost land ago.
The neural weaving the deftness & the skill the glowing fibers... was not available then, we had mud & clay & bent needles; neither of us remember
the way of it.

It was dust that killed our fathers, their own dead cells piling up & stifling them.

*** if the way is helped along, if the love is there ***

The boy who was not a spanish knight thought she was often reserved and attentive, like a doll meant to be treated with linen soft chequers and wine who like a dove was unsure of when she could raise her nose a plea from ago. She waits for a letter, a meter, a measure, some time left.

A breaking, a staking, a semineurotic shaking, she feels him, pass through it, archaic in the making. He loops around, buttons and rosettes, metaflow, madame flow, if i saw a man up on a ladder this man would have to die, still swirling, she’s lost him. This is no place to stay.

a trifle, a knifeful, he hopes for a wife full of domestic sensibilities, someone who can labor in the fields, bake hearty bread, and make strong love at the end of the day, the lost land glorious and beatific.

she returned from the old country and he wanted to propose to her at Monticello,
a sacred american site from the waverings of the lost land. She would not go, finding the way unnecessarily perilous, and instead he gave her a wooden box
emblazoned with the signature of Nike and bearing three chips of alabaster;
to add to the red-flowered pin of Russian enamel, the bracelet of garnets, the silk vest worn home from Nepal.
Silver earrings, teardrop-shaped.
A dagger with a handle of rainbows.
A green hooded robe woven of wool and someone else’s fears. When the moon is raging she broods about the town in this robe, as he would have wanted, lost land late and final.

How is your health? Who is this woman in front of me? And the yogi who thinks this is also not me will gain liberation, this is also not meet, fish is also not meat; double boycott, Ferdinand in a gunnysack. I’ll make you a deal we’ll build a glass asylum. Listen to me no listen to me she said, she said she wanted a magician not a crazy man not a bus stop rat bag.
A crazy man loops and loops, he gets thrust between the worlds with no control;
a magician walks between the worlds at will. With ease. Not sloppy not slipping like quicksilver dripping one can visit the lost land but look. There is something on the horizon.

******a gravestone, an ending, a semiconscious sending ******

A buckle, brass laces, coarse faces, the lost land, the last land,
A cybernetic era. Hat bands and rat hands, pattering underneath the wood, before metal, before silicone, I knew you, the lost land obscure and quivering. Empires raged: no matter. Hard work, stark work, hand to hand to mouth and knee, the grain the great lost weight of it. Can you see through memory?

invent the light land, a lattice, a fiberoptic plexus, a nexus, a weaving, a quicksilver seething, hail mercury, hail mercury, hail mercury. Divine and conquer.

next / spin