In the moment, a beginning, when opened,
cage is body. A city, prison. I am blood
in the sinew of labyrinths restored. How it began,
I was gradually introduced. This empire of the city
and I. Careful enough to fit in the chamber of a car,
held hostage by drumming sounds. Body shaken
by multitude music, well-guarded in this secret.
In the moment, a beginning, when pried open,
indicative of story. Body is novel. Moments
punctuate. I am a line that pursues the center.
How it began,
I was quick to expect the finality. This city before
meant nothing to me. Now that I have arrived, I breathe
through stations filled with hibernal faces waiting the train
to commiserate. Questions form a body to converse with.
Answers a momentous day, forthcoming
of something, tremendous with the hubris of forecast:
Today the sun is as shameful as shameful can be,
force-opened the windows for air to bloom. This is intention
of the season. Watching salt slowly descend, I know how to dance
with my sweat. I taste my skin to prove it. What must I be
in the moment, a beginning, when opened? Whose body I long to
cage? With what magnitude do I try to surprise?
What well-guarded perdition I try to relinquish?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
In the moment, a beginning, when opened,
cage is body. A city, prison. I am blood
in the sinew of labyrinths restored. How it began,
I was gradually introduced. This empire of the city
and I. Careful enough to fit in the chamber of a car,
held hostage by drumming sounds. Body shaken
by multitude music, well-guarded in this secret.
In the moment, a beginning, when pried open,
indicative of story. Body is novel. Moments
punctuate. I am a line that pursues the center.
How it began,
I was quick to expect the finality. This city before
meant nothing to me. Now that I have arrived, I breathe
through stations filled with hibernal faces waiting the train
to commiserate. Questions form a body to converse with.
Answers a momentous day, forthcoming
of something, tremendous with the hubris of forecast:
Today the sun is as shameful as shameful can be,
force-opened the windows for air to bloom. This is intention
of the season. Watching salt slowly descend, I know how to dance
with my sweat. I taste my skin to prove it. What must I be
in the moment, a beginning, when opened? Whose body I long to
cage? With what magnitude do I try to surprise?
What well-guarded perdition I try to relinquish?
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