[Mouthgazing]
Mouthgazing for the lost popular
bougainvillaea eco-poetic
RANGE ROVER
fire-split
mirror “Oh here under here you will
see “see” rubs the mouthless, fireless
vacuuming lot, “that which is”
“itinerant or
INCINERATED
is not a threat”
“Oh here under here you will see”
Oh subway stop
speaking to “the underground
material botanical”
CANAL FOR FLORAL
boats
“selection” pretending to pluck firm branch from sole
in music “selected” by way of alternatives
“to educate and remind” such speech is air
such
“Oxygenating Associates” such as
leaves
are
“Oxygenating associates”
Oh collaborate and breathe
“in all earnestness”
to landfill: Get filled
“these images in reverse” can contain
“a cavity”
I’d bloom
“downwards
since there’s glass above?” I approach in the lilyhat full, the
perverted isthmuslistener
In conclusion,
“In conclusion,”
A purse snaps into teleological scarcity
revealing itself to be
a bee landing in a mouth
growing under observation —
“Control us
!
[Seeing bandages as ghoul eyes, seeing]
Seeing bandages as ghoul eyes, seeing
thought as blowholes or bandages, white
gulls, dirty. Flyers already know how
to move. It’s obvious, thoughts are bandages
are ghosts healing. Actually
do not touch me again. This is not frantic
to be a splayed whale, when I’m all out.
Then you give me a lemon
from your grocery bag. What
if I were a grocery bag.
[Wanting to be like him, drifting toward machines]
Wanting to be like him, drifting toward machines
at supermarket, a young four or sixteen, dimensions
depend on whose looking in who, I look in the eye
machines with his feelings. To wit, feeling
hymn-like, to all observing me, means lesbians
fugue the bull, in a supine shift into
legibility, wanting to believe in being
me him-being, for four
hours or max. twelve. In the bleach aisle
I am a peach whale yawning up
hydrogen, squared, that is
“Count the pillars next time you grocery
store attendants there are mirrors
or suck the youth right out of my
math mouth. My mask—mmm”
[Now like dadwatching her spot]
Now like dadwatching her spot
of sisterlight gimmick into dog’s play
I get the shivers. Men look, like, in
her eyes watching her spot into
dog’s play under the soul of a moonspot
inside the restaurant. It’s warm
for September not
warm enough. Like our dad, I’d
rather give my sister bones. The other
rolls her tongue around a pill, but
[If I were a doctor (make that into a mirror)]
If I were a doctor (make that into a mirror) I
would blink at studying the waiting room
and swallow my cancer. Scrub
all X before police arrive. If I
were a doctor (window)— Big time
and white cloth all over the stage. My
telephone lines
(hanging the laundry)
!
If I were patient I put on the robe. I put on the robe
the room is mine. Banter, lights, cameras, syringes. If
I were patient I put on the robe and smile down. I smile
down. Geese, frogs, crocodiles, hummingbirds. I simmer
too long in robe. If I were patient then I a video song
A song in the medium, a video.
A medium song video.
Videoing a medium song.
In the video you see my wrists
of death, they awaken.
Wrists, they awaken
ankles that tell you another
that I speaks French
and it is 100%, the room
is mine two weeks out
not to be transferred
patient. Health, witness,
blockade, rat poison.
The song is the medium, videoed. Me…
Me dum, ami!
I can’t seem to get out of the hospital no matter how hard I try to open this window it just won’t budge the key into place the door in its goodbye
**
ZOE DARSEE was born around noon on a Tuesday. They are the author of BELL LOGIC (Spiral Editions) and Anzündkind (Creative Writing Department). Together with Nadia Marcus, they run TABLOID Press. This work continues. More at zoedarsee.com.
