• The Resolution Issue

    Fell through a distance in the game

    The Resolution Issue

    The Grapevine Telegraph

    Fell through a distance in the game

    someone who is absent is someone who is absent
    if you want it
    it is it you want
    not someone who is absent
    a hole is not a hole
    but a way down is not below
    but a distance in the game you are
    someone whose presence is absence
    there is no need to lose everything
    you could have been in this life
    you are somewhere else
    you arrive before a softness
    and your composition is such
    that a barricade of books makes you
    as strong as you are soft
    without alliance
    your presence is soft and malleable
    a barricade of books and your absence
    presently battle each other and in losing
    you’re condemned to come back to life

    you’re condemned to come back to life on some days
    your past is a box of shroedinger’s cats
    you contemplate on other days
    they jump at your face
    and claw out the memories
    carved into your cheeks
    you are pieces of fallen flesh

    you are pieces of fallen flesh
    runes that indicate a novel perception
    of evidence as rotten meaning
    which means several of your breasts have started to fall
    on the ground they exert an impossible stench
    working in this absence
    desirous for a severance
    from the absence
    you are eating my hands
    and I’m eating yours
    your finger nails
    travel to my retina
    my interior itch
    in the game difference is measured
    by degrees of alienation
    in what’s present there is no space
    for your absence is impossible
    you fall through a distance in the game

    you fall through a distance in the game
    into a seclusion in which with care
    your absence is opened to what comes to corrode it
    I know how you got here
    because I forgot
    that nothing disappears
    even eaten by what we produce
    our limbs permeate what eats us
    wash it away with us
    we are toxic dirt in rivulets
    our shrinking skins lie bare
    the absence of the future
    runs into our matter
    without replacing the past
    the fact that you exist
    lets you appear in the dreams of others
    the fact that they’re forgotten
    means you’re remembered
    as memories are fat with oblivion
    and matter is composed of the forgotten
    something breakable between your teeth
    like a morning
    breaks your face
    like dawn

    like morning
    your face breaks at dawn
    with a yell
    I stick my roseate fingers into
    the soft sludge you vomit
    and we wade through it
    for years to drive through your skin
    to vacate
    cause without form we love you best
    walking through you and not meaning anything
    presently washing upon the beaches of your past
    in lines that return like tides
    coming upon the words for a friend there in the sand
    to write in the clearest sense I can summon
    despite knowing
    what can come to these words
    can come to us
    memories of teeth riding the crest of waves
    the mouth we throw our bodies into
    the present’s ice cold digestion
    of days that break against us

    on days that break us
    we walk into each others graves
    for dialectics with our joys to present us with a sadness
    with our sadness to present us with a force
    cigarettes fall like leaves from our mouths
    we are the forest growing on the beach
    our dogs are habits gone astray
    I’m something vague and impossible
    my memories are sirens sitting on rocks
    they say you cannot digest an ocean
    and drowning it has been eaten
    and it eats you
    no part of our body is your body
    all our bodies are our bodies
    fuck the stasis that ruptures their return

    the return is breaking and repetition
    at once a stone and the flood exiting it
    the hardening of a fact and its rejection
    the poetics of this state are the poetics of shame
    the embarrassment of having lost
    a quality of love
    rather than the object of it
    the shape it takes on in our common body
    in which words may have replaced silence
    but silence has been accepted as our common place
    or the repetition of that which has no meaning as solace
    our loves are the fact and the dust of it
    making its way into the pores of your absence
    it nestles and spreads in the crates of your planets morning
    it will never leave you
    our hands are refracted in the light
    have lodged in your eye sockets
    hollowing out as you try to wash them away with your tears
    are all the directions you lost when you lost us
    we will eat you
    and all the directions you lost

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