It’s gonna go fast, Oh, it’s gonna go quick. And I stand in the front To pretend to be and I become. I have anxiety! So open eyeballs And open eardrums. There are directions in the book And we don’t hear them. It is exhilarating! Is it wish-wash? Does it not squash? When we pack it in mouths, When we put it on paper? I am a generator! What is this that I have made? I have not made anything. Parts and pieces crowd around the tongue Before it’s done with things. We don’t recognize, Reconcile a readymade. We watch it fall, Can’t stop it moving, going down down down down down. How we say, what we say, I cannot hold the answer still, And if I did, the question flame Murmurs soft, extinguishes. Experience has hit the ground, We pick it up, move it around, But we can’t make it say what it said before. It goes right through me And then its over, And as I try to draw its shadows shapes The marks I make only conceal. What is this messy substance? I understand it, Don’t I understand it? When we get to the point where It comes to pass I see it fall. Make no exquisite landing! What is this that I have made? I have not made anything. Parts and pieces crowd around the tongue Before it’s done with things. We don’t recognize, Reconcile a readymade. We watch it fall, Can’t stop it moving, going down down down down down. Ha ho, how do we know? Sleep walking, talking in our sleep. If comfort is the single substrate, Words of wisdom don’t exist. All these signs lay on the ground, We pick them up, wave them around, But they’re not going to say what they’ve said before. Hey! I can’t tell you what I say. Hey! I can’t tell you what this means. Hey! I pick it up, I put it down. Hey!

What are these shapes in front of me? (They are ineffable.) What are these things inside my mouth? (They are unstoppable.) All that I know Turns into stone, The snake in my mouth Fakes what I knew. Of the things that I knew Only rubble remains, Inside my mouth Blood-of-stones stain. Am I connected to this ‘scape? (It is with certainty.) I use my tongue to separate? (Tongues use the alphabet.) I cannot see, I cannot hear. Why can’t I hear? My ears are clear. I cannot hear What I can see, When the text leaves What will it be? I could not see the trees, I could not see the sky. I could not hear the breeze, I could not feel the grass. Systematically we put away the snake and when sites shake We revel in the tiny turns that it will take and then we say, I did not know the green, I did not know the blue. How are there parts to mystery? (Two-toned hypocrisy.) This tongue-division isn’t clean (Two-toned hypocrisy.) All that I know Turns into stone, The snake in my mouth Fakes what I knew. Of the things that I knew Only rubble remains, Inside my mouth Blood-of-stones stain. These marks, these words divide as well. (Sublime and beautiful.) New tongue-division harmony. (Touched by vocabulary.) This awkward field is atomized. (The ghosts made durable.) Divide me, divide me. (This flux is durable.) I cannot see, I cannot hear. Why can’t I hear? My ears are clear. I cannot hear What I can see, When the text leaves What will it be? I could not see the trees, I could not see the sky. I could not hear the breeze, I could not feel the grass. Systematically we put away the snake and when sites shake We revel in the tiny turns that it will take and then we say, I did not know the green, I did not know the blue. The ringing sound has reached my mouth. The taste is shattered by that sound. (Hold it. Shape it. We cannot remake this. Take it. Shake it. Snakes might make or break it.) Electric snakes they palpitate. Built shorthand piles, a snake disease. (Hold it. Shape it. We cannot remake this. Take it. Shake it. Snakes might make or break it.) I could not see the trees, I could not see the sky. I could not hear the breeze, I could not feel the grass. Systematically we put away the snake and when sites shake We revel in the tiny turns that it will take and then we say, I did not know the green, I did not know the blue.

Up up up To the top of the tower that we built for this purpose. Down down down The stairs, everybody thinks that we’re pretentious. We say, We cannot remember why we built up and there is no reason. Would I, could I, float above the surface? But they tell me not to, but they tell me not to. The life, the word, The life of words, The word is heard and it pulls my teeth. This spool, of drool, It lingers sideways, Projects into the air, Momentary free suspension. Babble, Babel, Verticality and the masonry Couldn’t sing songs like gravity. So I Make it horizontal and I put it down, On its side, replace the brick with water, See the structure capsize. Mutter, Utter, Confusion of the tongues, you’re waiting for the flood But this model changes shape, Water accelerates, When the surface of the ground drops down We will launch into the sky. I want to see like the waterfall, Build like the waterfall, Act like the waterfall. One million pieces interchanging, It’s a surface crawl, after all. Hydrogen hydrogen oxygen; Can’t be, won’t be, is not tall. We know this model hugs horizon, but we feel it charts more smoothly. And so these tongues divide, with tributaries branching wide, It works with gravity It works with gravity. The tongue is tried, The tongues will try, To stitch themselves together drawing roots and river systems. We resist Hecklers’ cries as they shout out loud, “vertical hierarchy.” We sprawl out, Become the flood that sparked the seed that grew the need for this anti-gravity. Like a Stream inside a stream this model dreams itself to be so experiential, And they’ll Scream, “pretension.” So we mention, the tower can’t fall.

Oh, eyes have teeth and bile ducts. The optic nerve, esophagus, Leads to a swamp Of imagery, I’m overwhelmed, this gluttony. This stimulus, this everything. You know that We can know what it will bring. And when we do, we can’t, You know we can’t, Remove every rabbit From every hat. Ohhhh, oh. (Aphasia.) So we look down, Into the ground. If you think you hear a sound, Know the source cannot be found And the silence is profound. No signs around. No words allowed. Signs and symbols seek to crowd, Representing what we’ve found, But we have doubts. Oh, mire-like plots inundate me. They wheel and deal, the product moves. I cannot peel, We try to steal or feel what’s real; It is concealed. I know my fate, I don’t hesitate, To seal the deal, to shut the gates. The iris might regurgitate. They come in slews, but it’s not too late. Ohhhh, oh. (Aphasia.) They know it, Spell it, Write it, Sell it, Tell it to all, They put it on the wall. We see it, Read it, Hear it, Know it, Too many walls, Can’t sort through it all. So we look down, Into the ground. If you think you hear a sound, Know the source cannot be found And the silence is profound. No signs around. No words allowed. Signs and symbols seek to crowd, Representing what we’ve found, But we have doubts.

If fields dissolve we will all yell, “phenomenon.” It does not seem compatible; the looks, the feels, the moves, so vulnerable. I come on top again, so level with the surface. I crawled across that slick, my creep barely perceptible. Swimming, Floating, Banking. Crawling, Walking, Flying, Falling. Being, Feeling, Thinking. Sorting, Speaking, Speaking, Speaking. We all feel narrative, this slinky scale from left to right, but, But am I narrative? This surface seems to say so. I sink my knees into the earth, where air and land divide, The knees grow firm and calloused, their movement now a mimicry. We can’t forget the way it gets done. Noise making mouths are on the run. It culminates on this barrier, And we forge their rhythm-destinations. Object-naming time is fun. Object-making time has come. Nouns slide around on this barrier; drop them, Touch them, push them, feel them, breathe them. Insides outside, how they hum. Is this the only way it gets done? Lungs, windpipe, larynx, tongue, teeth, air; Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare. We trapped this wind and now we all accrue the capital. This verdict is not criminal, this tell-tale wind, digestible. Air, land, air, land, in air, on land, I thinly coat the surface with firsthand presuppositions. Wondering, wiggling, woozy with “when?” Horizontal contributions turned resolved problem solutions. From left to right again, I think it smells of varnish here. This surface has veneer, not clear, a tactile residue. We can’t forget the way it gets done. Noise making mouths are on the run. It culminates on this barrier, And we forge their rhythm-destinations. Object-naming time is fun. Object-making time has come. Nouns slide around on this barrier; drop them, Touch them, push them, feel them, breathe them. Insides outside, how they hum. Is this the only way it gets done? Lungs, windpipe, larynx, tongue, teeth, air; Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare. Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare. Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare.

Hey. I can never tell you where I go. You can never see where I will be, it might be, I might not leave. I made the move to move what I made. My mouth might make mouth-escapade, a great escape, and it can push this shape. I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I need my mouth to maybe go through it. I know the route, I drag the weight, Don’t hide, my face can’t play two times, deliberate. (Wait. Weight. We can never stop. Don’t stop. We can never stop. Don’t stop. Wait. Weight.) Hands up! People put your hands up! Stop the action, clog the channels, Slowed down motion. Wait, stop! You cannot pass, you don’t have access. Take the action through the proper channels But you’d rather stop! (Wait.) Think. Mouths confuse each and every move. I push intention, but it won’t move. I pay attention and then you move, to move, to cancel out my motion. I’ll call it. I’ll say it. I’ll take my time, I’ll take the weight, and move to play it. What is this place? I cannot tell or spell, there’s no reveal and no translation. Intuition undergoes cremation. Mouths sculpt ash intending simulation. (Wait. We can never stop. Don’t stop. Weight.) Hands up! People put your hands up! Stop the action, clog the channels, Slowed down motion. Wait, stop! You cannot pass, you don’t have access. Take the action through the proper channels But you’d rather stop! Take the action through the proper channels But you’d rather stop! Take the action through the proper channels But you’d rather stop!

Is it judgment That we apply, To these things that we want to see inside? I do not know. I do not care. Why do I care? What makes me stare? So intensely at this square; you know it can change you. You know you can change it. It is selection, We are detectives, Piecemealing wholes, Writing perspectives. But what of the points that we neglected? I cannot say. I dare not say. Fill in the blanks So we can say, Can we ingest an entire atmosphere? Can we account for every point line and plane? Will it remain? It won’t remain. Is it the same? It’s never the same. I see. I saw. I have seen mystery. I have seen mystery. The stimuli I am inside Does not await the application of our reflex methodology. Automation, What we apply. Things can’t escape because we want to see them right. Can it resist? It cannot resist. And what do we bring to the song that it sings? Would it exist If we did not exist? We think that it will. We think that it won’t. You never can tell, W-H-A-T-I-F, What does that spell? We bring things that we want to put inside. I see. I saw. I have seen mystery. I have seen mystery. The stimuli I am inside Does not await the application of our reflex methodology. I have seen. Oh, I have seen, The reigns of memory Asphyxiate this mystery. Re-writing what we saw But never touching what we see.

(No one has been here before. I suspect this place in new.) This site seems emptied out, Or is it full of everything? There seems to be no standard so We all fall down and then, Projecting who, where, what, and when, We pull the wool on our own eyes. It serves as our disguise. This costume’s a familiar mode, In it we stand historically. An attitude, a valid one, Allowing full-fledged inquiry. We make it move. We push the air. But it grows soft and quivers. It quivers. I had it in my hands. It wasn’t making sense. I had to put it down, My hands are something new. As if I stepped outside, I do not know my name. My body is not mine, It can’t be catalogued. (In this manner all is new. Nothing has been seen before.) Our mouths conform to mix concrete To slow this dizzy altered state. Our mouths reveal the post they’ve birthed, The landmark’s lying still, it waits. And so we sneak around the field, Trying to recollect the field, And so, these shapes outline. Our gaze will edge up to an edge And creep to find it’s way around. And as it pulls the silhouette, A quiet kleptomania. A judgment that our senses made That can’t be verified as right. It’s wrong. I cannot recognize The shape that I outlined. Subjected to divide, It lost stability. As if I stepped outside, I do not know its name. This language is not mine, It cannot be applied. Something was taken and the void Becomes a blind spot in our minds. Landmarks more prevalent than land, Bookmarks denote the resting points. But is this clean and orderly? It is clean, and poetry. And if this cleanliness divides… I had it in my hands. It wasn’t making sense. I had to put it down, My hands are something new. As if I stepped outside, I do not know my name. My body is not mine, It can’t be catalogued.

And at this point in time you take it up in the air, Yet from this point of view you see me down on the ground, But at this point in time you take me up in the air, You say I’m down on the ground. You say I’m down on the ground. And then the hoards of people take it up in the air, And do the hoards of people see me down on the ground? And then the hoards of people take it up in the air, I make it down on the ground, They take it up in the air. Can we displace? Concocted ground, I cast around. This magic mound, It’s newly crowned, This magic mound, It’s newly crowned. You and me together then, Eyes must aim together and When I point it never lands, People taking turns, fueling tanks, it will never land. Gravity suspends its forces While I’m signing on the ground. Floating with a thick suspension, You will transubstantiate. Can we realize What paper found? Theatre-in-the-round, Stop looking down, What what what what what what? Stop looking down! These metal pounds, Material mounds, They love the ground, Don’t love the ground, What what what what what what? Don’t love the ground! You and me together then, Eyes must aim together and When I point it never lands, People taking turns, fueling tanks, it will never land. Gravity suspends its forces While I’m signing on the ground. Floating with a thick suspension, You will transubstantiate. I’m on the ground, I’m on the ground, You’re in the air, You’re in the air, I’m in the air, I’m in between, I’m at the seam, You’re at the seam. And at this point in time you take it up in the air, Yet from this point of view you see me down on the ground, But at this point in time you take me up in the air, You say I’m down on the ground. You say I’m down on the ground. And then the hoards of people take it up in the air, And do the hoards of people see me down on the ground? And then the hoards of people take it up in the air, I make it down on the ground, They take it up in the air. This magic mound, It’s tightly wound. Still on the ground, So tightly wound Up up up up up up! So tightly wound! Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. You and me together then, Eyes must aim together and When I point it never lands, People taking turns, fueling tanks, it will never land. Gravity suspends its forces While I’m signing on the ground. Floating with a thick suspension, You will transubstantiate. I’m on the ground, I’m on the ground, You’re in the air, You’re in the air, I’m in the air, I’m in between, I’m at the seam, You’re at the seam.

In we go. And we go to the bottom of the barrel And we can’t see that These things, they are remiss. In fact we’ve missed them Completely, At the bottom of the barrel. Seeking isolated circumstances, We can’t take these chances, Saturated In the poem of the barrel. At the bottom of the atmosphere, A dancing, rippled hydrosphere. The surface of the hydrosphere Is a surface of the atmosphere. Water water everywhere, It holds the air, it is the air. Gravity, buoyancy, Flotation, and the awkwardness. Remover, Remover, Remover, Remover. And its so. As we aim for the center of the target Our tongues are too short. Its thread, it is remiss, It makes a mess and Our gaze is, Down the center of the barrel. Delightful carving this bewildered text, We accept this state of mindlessness, Water-logged In the poem of the barrel. And if we miss the point Then we might all collect. (Grammarian.) As if removal makes, It makes them all connect. (Grammarian.) And with these heavy hands We know we are suspects. (Grammarian.) At the bottom of the atmosphere, A dancing, rippled hydrosphere. The surface of the hydrosphere Is a surface of the atmosphere. Water water everywhere, It holds the air, it is the air. Gravity, buoyancy, Flotation, and the awkwardness. Remover, Remover, Remover, Remover.

I want to be the last person to see this like this. I want to be the only one who sees this like this. For if we don’t miss, What we all miss, We notarize the change. This island shifts, grain-for-grain, Now it’s no longer under me. I teleport, reappear In another place. Grain-for-grain it’s the same, Sand will shift again. I go away, I am gone, And arrive again. Standing still, I’m island hopping. Actions can match reflex rhythms. Hey, I get the shakes, And I move, And I quiver, and I am absorbed, I am changed, This is permanent. Bulk of matter Will not stand still. We know this island is no more. Exaggerate, Amplify, And participate. We design parallel activities. We say this, We know that, It’s not the same, I’m not the same, it’s not the same, I’m not the same. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Tiny strings still resonate with my legs like this. Tiny strings inside my legs creating narrative. And so, I don’t move While I transform. We can pretend we are the same. The landmass alters it knows not of stability, And now I’m seeking parallel activity. My skin and bones strip away for the metaphor, The muscle comes to the top for the action now. We exaggerate as we transform. We see the islands pass us by. Hey, I get the shakes, And I move, And I quiver, and I am absorbed, I am changed, This is permanent. Bulk of matter Will not stand still. We know this island is no more. Exaggerate, Amplify, And participate. We design parallel activity. We say this, We know that, It’s not the same, I’m not the same, it’s not the same, I’m not the same. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. This action, I can do that. I remember many islands. This action, I remember. I remember many islands. This action, I will do that. Organize so many islands. This action, I will do that. Memorize so many islands.

I sent the postcard. The image clearly showed the change, Chemical change. We are romantic. We are expectant of the change, Chemical change. We seek specific patterns. We speak idyllically. I scream, I shout, My body’s frame resists the float. I try to join the subject field, A full-on case, evaporate. This land, this skin, Denies resolve, the surface stays. This rocky crust will not absorb This mobile perspectivity. I cannot evaporate. I shake, and spin, The surface won’t conjoin with me. The muscle, bone and skin won’t yield To transformation of it’s state. A shape is born, An eye discerns my silhouette. The memory, our consciousness, Will keep this shape for later use. I cannot evaporate. (We are changing and rearranging. Always changing, always rearranging.) (We are changing and rearranging. Always changing, always rearranging.) We want a sunset, No, there is nothing too cliché. It’s like the postcard, Confirming what we’re looking for. It is disarming, Experience will not align. Our hands aren’t empty, But we’re dissatisfied. I scream, I shout, My body’s frame resists the float. I try to join the subject field, A full-on case, evaporate. This land, this skin, Denies resolve, the surface stays. This rocky crust will not absorb This mobile perspectivity. I cannot evaporate. I shake, and spin, The surface won’t conjoin with me. The muscle, bone and skin won’t yield To transformation of it’s state. A shape is made, An eye discerns my silhouette. The memory, our consciousness, Will keep this shape for later use. I cannot evaporate.

(Get Under. Labyrinthian. Get Under. Labyrinthian. Labyrinthian.)

I did an unknown crawl, And I could not hear, And I could not see, And I could not breath. And this trench was blurred, I mean there was no edge, Phenomenology, But before that word. I looked for this place Because it had to be. It is a resting place For the atmosphere. Inspecting The place where we know these things should be. Projecting Pre-structural energy. I went underground, I went back in time, To see a history Where concrete soon would lie. There was no noise to make, Although my mouth produced. It was a sightly blur That tasted like it felt. I could not discern, No, I could not discern That I could not discern. And so the blur remained. Inspecting The place where we know these things should be. Projecting Pre-structural energy. Into the geosphere, Beneath this yearn for terms, What we pretend to learn When there is nothing earned. To linger in these turns Is not empirical, A soft-hemmed miracle; It’s pre-rhetorical. A body before bones, An unlikely swim, No body politics; A body without bones. Inspecting The place where we know these things should be. Projecting Pre-structural energy.

Not right, or the middle, But straight from the top left, Eyes they won’t stop moving now, These eyes they won’t stop moving now, They pull together—weaving sounds. If eyes can hear our scratched out signs, Sound-image won’t you come in clear? Sound-image, do we see or hear These symbols; once in mouths, in ears? I move my mouth when I see the symbol. An anchor holds me to the ground. But please, These needs of anchors Weight down eyelids, Screening, sifting, Shifting slightly. I skim around, and get down. I see, I say, “I hear the sound.” And all we come across we cut across, By mumbling gathered groups of nouns. The bomb bay drops these Pompeii rocks, Some frozen timing and it is locked into the upper crust, Down through the atmosphere. The ground shakes as I gain three faces. My ankles shape shift into wings. But move this structure, Wings of ankles, Have more faces, Men in costumes, Hate these faces. We can never save their places. We cannot collect all traces. Birds of ankles, Words of ankles, Wings of ankles, Words of wisdom. The echo’s loud, and stirs around. It goes straight from the eyes to mouths. It sounds involved, It’s unresolved, and Its magic makes a mockery, Of me, my mumbling mystery. But make me many, mesmerize, By multiplying meanings, mark My words, mocking ankle birds. The wings flap in a swirl of syndromes. Identity will pin them down. But please, These needs of anchors, Shutdown ankles, Screening, sifting, Shifting slightly.

It is unusual That we cannot fulfill The orders that were made; We know them very well. A casted replica, A trapped ephemera, It is so very clear, Concrete, equivocal. Two finite floating points, The shortest distance Between them is a line, But it’s not accessible. And somehow all involved Resolved to work through Poetic modes instead, And then their language said… Between eye and brain; What matter is this? Between brain and language; What matter is this? Between language and mouth; What matter is this? It was impossible, Yet we are breathing here. The space is manifest, This fiction is locale. A living atmosphere, We swell with metaphor, Perspiring salty drip, We bloat from moving air. Sound-image masonry, The mortar moistened well, Chew on it for a while, Until it starts to move. My lungs fill awkwardly, I think they’ll crystallize. This soggy walk can slow, My weighty flesh will fold. Between eye and brain; What matter is this? Between brain and language; What matter is this? Between language and mouth; What matter is this? Between eye and brain; What matter is this? Between brain and language; What matter is this? Between language and mouth; What matter is this?

A-P-H-A-S-I-A So we go underground, But we cannot breathe here for long.