soft shroud
2
THE BOOK OF DEBT
deep in the Impress
Council of Knifebeaks
slow perfect agreement
red eyes
in self symmetry
regard
necks feeling out in self puppetry
some fingers dip
deeply
into your old helmet
& come out smelling like death
which begins
at the top of your head
some hand dips deeply
in a pool of plasmic extension
shining cells take the form of the head
of a wild buffalo
body hidden well
bluebells
hollow dell
on high
image cast in the inversion pool,
pool falling all the way up
to the horizon of its record
waves of bodiless
blue space of former space
Council of Knifebeaks
regards
in spacious disinterest
compression of the
Great Lung
& there you are
vasoconstricted
how did you come into this debt?
breath
how did you come into this debt?
breath
how did you?
the icing tears open the lace working
the upright blood that swarms into animal forms on a white verandah
where the sun grows you amongst yielding wood, carved flowers’ shade
for a soft projection – uncantileverable
the belly of her sun, shining camera growing
a turn to face sun blooming gorse
herringbone child
passing lead subtraction up to her mother’s arms
the feeling is of dropping while the arms themselves lift
the sign of the feeling of lifting arms when they drop is sewing through
the positioning of threads given the through of a thread
whether the thread’s there, or
an I pouring in sand for a funnel of itself
is sewing the proposed revision of
how it would have that it had been
how it would have that it had been
satining a pure formerlism
buttonhole of gone kitchen’s
last enamel baby’s feet in the soup
present a shining cap for distress
the wing of a birdhole
an inner distinction made in limbs
foreshadowing
the systematic use of force
whose aunt secures
a clean place to end the confinement
white corner
between family lodgings
trapped
and drowsy on the sunstroke veranda
halfway down a fitted hole
I could reach up among the branches and my fingers would find nests.
eggs fell into my palms.
I ate eels with thrush eggs. I tickled trout
and ate them with thrush eggs.
I stashed my dress in a saddle-bag and I rode my horse to dances
and I rode home in the moonlight.
I rode home in the moonlight there
the great flock covered the moon it drew my breath’s tide out
sucked every good of my household out
into a full collapsing arch of goods
all go hungry. council comes.
feathers stanch and their necks come
nakedly, the necks of cameras
into tubular halls.
cleanly the necks of the assignee can
perform assessment and withdraw.
wings for the sunlight can
repletion
arrange
incidental warming
shade for a shame.
for grey lips
fused to the breast
come
the sun can
stanch and draw
extended pause
on the crumbled
edge of the hole
for women
whose arms will drop,
council
slide apart
then for cleaning
turn the whet edges of tongues
over the knives
and cleanly back upon themselves
tongue
the skin of the necks
hole is a well wall
against her back
pooling in the black
accumulating pupil
from the bleeding breast comes nothing
but hairless doves falling down
the roe of a night window
falling down of there a wave
composing a lowering for embrace
of the horizontal pressures which make combs
a site of musical reversal
this wound is producing
something ceaseless
a wave
pouring sunlight
through its water and
evaporation
