Tossed Satellites

                                    “Well, while I’m here I’ll

                                                     Do the work—

                                    and what’s the Work?

                                             To ease the pain of living.

                                    Everything else, drunken

                                                            Dumbshow.”

                                    —Allen Ginsberg, “Memory Garden”

 

                                    “it may not always be so;and i say

                                    that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch

                                    another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch

                                    his heart,as mine in time not far away;

                                    if on another’s face your sweet hair lay

                                    in such a silence as i know,or such

                                    great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,

                                    stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

 

                                    if this should be,i say if this should be—

                                    you of my heart,send me a little word;

                                    that i may go unto him,and take his hands,

                                    saying,Accept all happiness from me.

                                    Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird

                                    sing terribly afar in the lost lands.”

                                    —e.e. cummings, “Sonnets—Unrealities: XI”

 

 

 

 

There is a tossed handful of kissed ache thrown over my shoulder in this poem of nonsense:

 

I.

 

Come to collect, the come-hither,

The knot we trade, as sought-over waste

An atmosphere of hurt run frigid

 

(We are all satellites orbiting the same things)

(We are all satellites orbiting the same hearts)

 

*

 

Abhor the reasoning I make,

To continue to keep you, cold come-hither,

In the hemisphere of how I think

 

(Pics of common thoughts)

(Pics of come-hither arts)

 

*

 

From here on out,

As you pleasantly forget about me,

I toss a satellite

Over shoulder

Too late

 

(Many, many years ago, if at all)

(Many, many years to go, till fall)

 

*

 

It was you,

Who put me here,

In constant horror of how I have loved

 

(We are all the satellites)

(All satellites the same)

 

II.

 

a satellite

skulled and skinned

trepanned of new meaning

 

(cold/copy)

(cold/corrode)

 

*

 

a chilled reload

boiled meat

torn off bone

 

(pics so soft)

(pic-to-graph)

 

Angled to earth

the upset,

the nox-

ious tell

of

Angels—fire at will

To bring: Bringer of Death

As kill, core of tooth

pulled

from inner

spiral, to

seize inner

hour

Culled.

 

(total seen)

(total all)

 

*

 

Skied-open mouth

to tongue, rolled

over

upset the

wheel:

An eight-fold path to

heartbreak

 

(She sings mantra of)

(She hums mantra mine)

 

Satellite Guru Om

Om to Liver’s pleas

Come-hither love

Knotted

to earth

as

Gut-rot calibrated

to Morning’s leave

 

(Hold heart low)

(hold for below)

 

*

 

a body poem

feathered and skimmed,

far-fetched—

hollowed-out breath

From my pit to her throat

 

(rest poem tongue)

(rolled over coral)

 

*

 

Brown air holds conference aims

To space, she wades, as warm

To cloud-lips

enveloped as

such

 

III.

 

a chest of universe

tucked under skull of sky

full of satellites

 

Samsara,

 

too real, too real…

 

(Nurse cloudy veins)

(Nurse cloud aims)

 

*

 

Saliva creep

to corner bed;

a normal corr-

uption upset the

fed

In cupped sky

with room

To spare

 

(on waters with room)

(on contact with room)

 

Circles spread and

triple out, double

out

to

Space and

Tossed air about

Wrist

 

(pics of sky)

(pics of eye)

 

Pressed white ringed

in red—white-knuckled

dream,

out

to

waste and

Tossed sin about

Kiss

 

(Tucked in, Sleepyhead)

(Kissed on sleepy-smile)

 

*

 

There is echo-light

emanating from a once-lit heart

 

Aurora-far,

decorated

walls, a

made-up bed

Sorry for bad dreams

 

(she breathes)

(she careers)

 

*

 

a creep-up

on girls, alone

with air waves

set

bet-

ween

Toes

 

(Dressed, gone chaos)

(Hipped to seashells)

 

Nevertheless, the button pushed,

Corralled underwater

and drunk in w/

all eyes—closed,

too close

a

find-

ing

star      as close

 

(Tender, pink, morose)

(Married, weak, aloof)

IV.

 

Satellite as

sexual smell

harmed of belly

immense in the body of swoon

of sorrow

collapsed in lung

of flowers

painted ivory tongue

as moon sings

a teenage tune

 

(to me)

(to me)

 

Copper-breath as still

puffed to space and chest

 

Dear Heart,

a marvel of unrest

to lay at feet

curled about silence

 

(pics of the best)

(pics to the letter)

 

*

 

a drawn catch

answered like breath

draws a mouth to mine

steers satellites

carefully

to

earth

 

(the worm’s place)

(below the ground)

 

a kiss marries sky

to orbited love-longing

and hemi-sphered bobbing

too long

above

air

a

pulse whispers from

our

Gravitational Pull.

 

(Nor’ easterner tug)

(Nor’ easterner fog)

 

*

 

a satellite tossed

over a shoulder

of

chance

 

(Remember as such)

(Written as such)

 

Come-hither, you,

Who put me here;

Where Love is a

Horror show.

 

V.

 

Tossed satellites, We are—

 

(over a heart, we go)

(a sky held, too close)

 

You are—My—

 

 

 

 

never-remembers, Satellite-girl—

Lost in the stars of our old love.

Lost in the milk of space—then twirled—gone.

 

(Toves)

 

 

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