Nirvana Ice

I was born here. Coughing
unused cigarette smoke
into the creep of
a fan. I was born here

once again at this edge of
not knowing, Killed
slovenly by your
tucked-in hours, ashamed:

with amber light taut and
frigid as memory around
my throat. Born, not breathing;
breached by your promise, your

glint of orange and yellow of
forgiveness; so that here, four
hundred miles away, I flip

to the error of belly-soft and
talon-poised, just to hear you
coo for me, to break our wings on
water frozen closed. The air

has no parentage, no progeny;

I love its loneliness even as I grip
your ghost in moaning, drill

through my breath clear to
my father's grave, attached
by umbillical to this live feed
not found of myself, of myself

all fondness and mercy. Sentient beings
are numberless, I vow to liberate them all;


with a tiny slit in my mind I have
flattened my breath to fit
into my birth; and I spin.
I spin the air all over you.



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NEW!!!–Dirty Milk–reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/

http://www.lewislacook.com/

tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html








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