forgetting of ways
March 2025
Beginning before is abyssal is luminous
such that with twined iron
unwriting iron this
tongue will yet wound will yet bind.
*
Will yet never this naked tongue die.
Will yet never this naked tongue once more be
cut. As at duskfall each flower is
cut. Is cut secretly
open. To open
that wound whereby
sweetly
is nothing received.
*
Open. Cut lovely. Abyssal this naked tongue.
Never by twilight. To therefore be tenderly.
In flesh so gaping now so as
to speak.
*
Never so lovely so open. This kiss
by which every last radical
breath is unmade and is therefore made one.
With one only perceived in that
open that elsewhere
leaves embering.
Every which way.
*
Verdant again is this whisper becoming. For all that is
thereby abyssal in silence. Like wet iron
waiting for skin to enfold.
✳