Ryan Chighizola
 

I.                    Movement of a goat into night's stomach

II.                     bookbinding

III.                      everywhere our amphitheater

 

 

I.

I've heard incandescence

begin to crumble

at its eaves

 

as you whistled away

slaking thirst for thought

and the dirge cemented

a suspension bridge

to my will.

 

since the worm turned

we have learned

apple's broken tear

 

drop

into pools of mercury.

 

 

 

                           as you used toughest of fingernails

                           to dig to tickle

                           constellations

                             

                           we will lie here

                           happened

                          

                           in the grass

                           and scratched dirt.

                           

 

 

                                           "mind the muse, please"  they say

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the day seemed to have permanents, fragrant curls.

 

 

 

her bare legs stretching soft over green.

 

 

 

more scarce than regular heartbeats

the blood is large, stern

rustlings of aluminum,

 

stench of  overbearing red,

thinning patch of underpinnings

and glass

coals are luke warm drawn

from the glacial mass.

 

azure legged dawn,

blanket flavored night

hermetic donkeys in strict ballet.


 

II.

 

 

the machinery is blonde,

                                       long legs turning cylindrical

greased the inside thigh,

                                       bending to the rhythmic

 rhythmic mimic

                           din saw cut

 saw blades cut

                          saw cut binding 

binding 

              binding

and hot

glue

 

 

 

 

the pulled out of body breath

 

song of sastifaction

sign of desperation

 

                          

 

that day seemed to have a permanence, fragrant curls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III.

 

 

 the architecture sneezes

 

 

 

 

 

 smoke tastes of velvet calm gravel discontent

 

 

 

 

almost a thousand hours old through the chap of a fricative

 

all eyes are averted, we can do whatever we want in this elephantine invisibility. 

 

all snowflakes are pure blood purple and mangled by the fall from firmaments

 

and day with that perm, curling.

 

                                                                            peace waves

                                                                                     good

                                                                                                                   -bye

while guile

re-

news.

A

momentary

 

 

noose

 

 


 

 

my heart is a nest

full of bees