28(The Sky)

28.

We are, uh, stuck in this, uh, dimension and time.
Smoke the day's last cigarette, all lights on. The sky
creeps around the corners of houses. Storming through
a cry of slamming doors. Clouds make a half-eaten
cookie under the Dandy Warhols. I am a scientist.
Swoon units.
Your eyes, nipples almost stilled by ivy. Power to the
people! What haunts Europe like. Crawling. With the
ill behavior with the ill behavior with the ill
behavior with the ill behavior. Shadows of unseen
birds skipping across blank pavement. I knew clouds
lke this. I promise not to move so fast you can't
catch me. You were the last high, by the Dandy
Warhols. I lick the shadow of you, unseen, from the
forgotten densities of every minute. So we eat to
steady our head; in our belly we carry more than air.
You post photos of someone else. We watch everything
through holes. Cherish is a word I use to describe. I
don't understand this joke. I'm losing you. Or maybe I
see myself skimming the underbrush, bloody with all
the thunder of Isabel touched down, in 1969. An empty
plastic bag a puppet for wind's desire. Dirt. Focus.
If you rain on me tonight, with billows of glint and
waterlillies, if the cemetary follows wilting as
protocol for XP drivers, if serially I savage gauges
of how you love through miles me recursive in my
loneliness, what grammar marbles our relations to our
limbs, still tangled, what placement of seperate
arguing can save us from volumes of love?


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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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