Status Updates From Sharks in the Rivers

And the drops kept coming like offerings in the obedient now. That’s true, you have done all this to yourself. My covers were not constrictors, nor were my walls. My elaborate constructions were built of stencils & explosive devices.

A hissing magnitude comes & un-houses me, only in the hours when I am not who I am at all. For what seems like fifteen minutes I stare at the word, “nests.” It has too many S’s. It’s S heavy. It’s not a place for a bird.

Let go the oxcart. Let go the claw & climb. This fevered mess of world is well-done. Lean in & nuzzle it’s exceptional need to be yours.

Beauty in its optimal world, denies all its adversaries, says, Boo, says, Who’s there? And the ugly parts scatter….

Don’t think about Laika in orbit. Don’t think about cringe & catastrophe.
Beauty will come to you, lay down at your feet, put its wild hair in your lap.

And let me be the first to admit, when I come across some jewel of pleasure, I too want to squeeze that thing until even its seedy heart evaporates like ethanol, want to throw my bird-bones into the brush-fire until, half-blind, all I can hear is the sound of wings in the relentlessly delighted air.

To be the General of Sorrow, the grave meanness of a walk into one’s own memory. How does one lay down her rigid plan for infinity? Like a sword in the street?

We’re molded in metal here together, we contend w catapult, we will stick this spun-surly life out…

This is how we turn, so rotated & spun in our own isolations.

This is the way the world runs through us, its instruments of moon-water & hangnails of hope. River, river, listen, I understand the urgency. I am floodwater running; I am dirt ditch rising. A constant glutton for the outpouring pond, I am trying desperately to return to gone.

If we begin to count our blessings we could cull up the very stones & bones in the pavement, but we’d never count the dust. We distrust what we become.

A tenderness grows like a fluttering in her hand….