Up
here
The
wind does not wastefully
Whisper
it
Screams
And
races as sharp as shrapnel.
My
bust is stainless.
If
anything, a twitch of the cheek.
Where
floorboards would be sent flying
Mine
only creak.
I
peer and hear the dissonant
Offspring
of the petri dish
Below.
Of friction, mobile cultures,
A
glow.
The
cap hides the stalk that I know
Grows
on the underside.
I
was down there once, a bellowing
Primate
engrossed in the war waged
Every
sunrise.
The
plate to be pleased. The body appeased.
Another
mate dissipates and maps on my
Legs
branch like an illustrated fever.
The
towels in place,
As
Plath’s face hit the grate I
Shriek
my first shriek,
Release
the first piece of the chalk likes that
Extend on the slate,
Unrolled
her chemical tongue in my
Mouth.
Eyes
full of white.
Even
then I deflate.
I
wrenched the broth from me and
The
conical mass that I now top is
Coughed
up from the mud by its
Own
accord.
A
horde of columns, a mythical wedding
Cake.
With tiers for my fellow, but lesser
Legends.
This
fresh mountain built so the one
Looking
down this time is
Me.
I
have seen them come and go,
A
sporadic flow of former
Fresco-dwellers,
The
beat pixie that rolled R’s,
Whose
syllabic disregard and song made
Skin
cleave with ease.
Words
of richest art.
Disappeared,
Hung
like the towels, the towels to
Dry
By
the eye of VonTrier.
“Fashion
me a crown of lilacs,
Of
lichens and the cheapest pearls” I
Command
a crowd of no one.
I
am iridescent in my throne of
Lightning.
It
is all borrowed, and I am alone
And accompanied,
Simultaneously.
A
level lower, relics that reflect light.
Colored
chrome.
The
pyramids of books I have
Consumed.
The
translucent elevator parts and
Here:
a can of spray-paint,
Seahorse
in tank. Floating files of
Etched
discs encased.
A
bother, the duality,
But
I still tremble, for Venus as a nail
guarantees my margin of
Instability.
Three
have descended from the
Cybernetic
cumulus to take my seat,
A
trinity.
They
bestow blindness as they
Demote,
Strip
me of my clothes, my power.
Opaque
pistol to the throat.
I
breathe gasoline into the air I
Detonate
bricks rebuilt year after
Year.
But
my retina heals, my brain is
Unpeeled
and after I let the sizing seconds slip
I
sacrifice.
I
rip my right arm and toss it to the
Marble
I tear my jawbone from the
Concept
cradle.
Triune.
They
shrink like a sponge.
Cataloged,
I sink them in the
Subterranean
vaults of my universe.
Magnetic
adversaries.
The
fathers of all wrongdoing in
My
religion.
Babies
in sports gear.
Babies
bathed in bong water.
One,
nothing short of nuclear fission,
Eyebrows
that I longed to thieve by mouth
With
the force that I grind the pit of a cherry.
I
don’t have a thunderbolt to sheath.
My
violet skin, I am a lizard king. My
Sopped
sockets enter space like a
Cobweb.
My
mother didn't dunk me in the
River.
Each
in, a soft spot, and I do die.
But
with each sugar cube headstone
Sunk
behind my chair I
Sew
a new skin.
Thicker
but thinner, variations when traversed
By
a newcomer’s fingers.
I
satisfy.
Each
tarp is a winner.
I
have no temple in the dirt,
No
bound account in every translation I do
Not
have stained-glass middlemen or a
Congregation.
Either
I squirmed ‘til I was free or the agar exiled
Me.
I
sled down this Olympus and
Assume
the visage of
Antifreeze
in standing water, of a
Field
of flowers. The denizens,
They
infiltrate.
Splatter
me mid-rotation,
Conceive
in my multi-hued cocoon.
I
drip to a pulse-less parking space.
In
me they swoon.
So
soon they sweep with cilia
The
epidermis that I mime.
To
blink would be no less than crime.
The
armrest crackles. I, browning
Fruit.
I
page through the inventory, decide
Upon
tooth.
A hadron
echo, of marbles in a plaster room.
Rise,
Rise.
I
coax myself to double-coat in different
Films,
to sleep a while within the kiln.
And
I bloom,
The
cosmological amoeba with infinite
False
feet -
I expand
And
Stretch
a network of constellations,
Each
fiery diamond brand new.
Each
one could have been for any of you.
-BENJAMIN SMITH
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