On Rage
Rage is always past tense.
Wasn’t that ridiculous.
Wasn’t that inexplicable.
Cheerful music plays in the background.
As though it were playing right now.
As though you had gone into the yard in broad daylight and picked flowers that
don’t belong to you.
What it means to say, the rage, is
what possession is. Possessed.
And after the fact, after the one moment, the lucid storm of divine logic.
After the past tense.
The flowers are tucked into a vase and sit on the table. They
are yours.
On the Difference between Animal and Creature
It’s
isn’t it
all in the smell, the humors of
scent, the feral, moral, rural, minimal
animal is echolalic.
The creature is able to smile, to fill
countenance with perception, mill
its arms around, its legs, loll or hunt
its field, its plural.
Animal in fur, interior overheard
call, mineral tang of voice, voice stalled. Its
odor transferred, diurnal.
They had no smell in the name or
stink, only paw and pall, little
hell of beingness, crawl to haven.
What little
happens in the removal, each
distinction creature fills
with theme, a face that knows
itself in reflection,
reflection stolen, gelled, steeled
against the stink that glass
won’t mirror.
Likeness, liken, small
abyss-smell, hollow
animal covers creature’s feet.
All who call and wallow, call
and borrow, knowing list
and leaning, aroma
the feral, moral, rural, minimal, howling and
uncreased forehead of creature. Creature
who doesn’t hold but knows.
Its. It’s.
Animal, inimical, mimic, ape, sniff, spray
of its, it’s, indivisible in air. Separation is
aftereffect. Durable, invisible, choral, trial
and trail interchangeable. Smell
meant to commingle where it marks smell.
Ricochets. A call that the air inhales, no
clear conception.
Familiar,
recall the odor of the other. A new humor
lofts, calls leg and paw, summoning in an order
whose nose pierces the natural. Whiff of
babble, still stillness resting where the
stink is full. Odor’s filial impasse.
On Bathing
They understood that the very act of bathing was a distance
and the body
moved to it,
was doubled.
The water then removes
them, both,
as though
they had words that said farther, said no
distance in water.
What if a hand
came from behind,
if it wetted the hair. It neither did
nor did not understand that
far, that away, what the hand could measure,
when the sound was not water, was the fall of
the nakedness from the body to its distance.