on the train i look at my reflection briefly
try to ascertain the moment when my iris stops
but i can’t.
people all look at me
and i can’t
when all the carriage doors are open
facing forward and say
i cannot tell when i am turning.
because you see it happen elsewhere first.
sometimes i can’t breathe, but
i see it elsewhere first
they watch me
and i can’t
600 meters to fire hydrant, if it doesn’t add up,
speak with governed throat. who owns your eyes?
eyes stare a parking lot
scribbled on the concrete, save the trees.
i guess the cars mean they didn’t.
who owns your hands?
walk this way. have a break, have pure
brandy. learn to walk with bottle feet.
you won’t slip if you just sit the fuck
down. who owns your feet?
boy sitting at the bus stop looks at
me and says. nothing
today the clouds look like they are leaving
back to sea. but then i saw her mouth
she owns my eyes now and all of their
…one day pinocchio \asks me\?
where he came from
so I gave him a \\knife\\
\\wood glue\\ and
((I TOLD HIM TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR HIMSELF))
the priests make \too many; mistakes
but perhaps it is simply
((CRUEL))to talk of – genisis – \as if it was\
as if god did not
CUT THE SKY out of his eyes
the sea OUT OF HIS THROAT
as if light \\WASN’T\\BLOOD!
as if he wasn’t just afraid of the empty…
…so it was that pinocchio begun to
;grow yew trees
;chop and prepare them for the wood glue
;attach them to empty spots
\\for the days\\that pinocchio
had hacked too much away
when i was a child/an angel fell into my bedroom/covered in eyes/
i din’t know anything about blood/beauty or/isolation/
but i knew about keeping birds/i took my scissors and/clipped all six of its/
angel made no sound at all/all it did was stare with its body of eyes/
i had a very strong feeling that it/was trying to peel itself open/
such a desire to be flat and thin like paper/