Waking in the Dark
The thing that arrests me is
how we are composed of molecules
(he showed me the figure in the paving stones)
arranged without our knowledge and consent
like the wirephoto composed
of millions of dots
in which the man from Bangladesh
on the front page
knowing nothing about it
which is his presence for the world
We are standing in line outside of something
two by two, or alone in pairs, or simply
looking into windows full of scissors,
windows full of shoes. The street was closing,
the city was closing, would we be the lucky ones
to make it? They were showing
in a glass case, the Man Without a Country.
We held up our passports in his face, we
wept for him.
They are dumping animal blood into the sea
to bring up the sharks. Sometimes every
aperture of my body
blood. I don’t know whether
to pretend that this is natural.
there a law about this, a law of nature?
You worship the blood
call it hysterical bleeding
you want to drink it like milk
your finger into it and you write
you faint at the smell of it
dream of dumping me into the sea.
The tragedy of sex
lies around us, a woodlot
the axes are sharpened
The old shelters and huts
stare through the clearing with a certain resolution
the hermit’s cabin, the hunters’ shack –
scenes of masturbation
and dirty jokes.
A man’s world. But finished.
have sold it to the machines.
I walk the unconscious forest,
dressed in old army fatigues
that have shrunk to fit her, I am lost
moments, I feel dazed
by the sun pawing between the trees,
in the bog and lichen of the ticket.
Nothing will save this. I am alone,
kicking the last totting logs
with their strange smell of life, not death,
wondering what on earth it all might have become.
blinding and purging
spears of sun striking the water
the bodies riding the air
the bodies in slow motion
at the Berlin Olympics
control; loss of control
the bodies rising
arching back to the tower
time reeling backward
clarity of open air
before the dark chambers
with the shower-heads
the bodies falling again
faster than light
the water opening
A woman made this film
All night dreaming of a body
space weighs on differently from mine
are making love in the street
the traffic flows off from us
back like a sheet
the asphalt stirs with tenderness
we move together like underwater plants
Over and over, starting
I dive back to discover you
still whispering, touch me, we go on
citylight forest ocean
stirring our body hair
But this is the saying of a dream
-from Diving into the Wreck
I wish there were somewhere
actual we could stand
handing the power-glasses back and
looking at the earth, the wildwood
where the split began.