is for it to be known that
even light seems to burn as a form of pressure
night insects lust after
a brightness external to the soul which both reflects its splendid reputation
and dominates it entirely
and exactly as that is what the soul wants--
to be pressed submissive between sheets
of glassine for posterity
--it also wants known the fight it puts up all that time inside the mollusc
the fixed irritation of meanings altered in different mouths
a careening list of private contraries
all rhythm-slash-talk and no plot-slash-action.
whenever we witness the river’s liftbridge unlacing for boats to pass
my dog just comes unhinged.
a half of a bridge, in her mind, as ominous and freakish as any godzilla.
what i perceive as her wanting what she knows to bridge what she doesn’t
makes her seem almost human
almost as solitary and desirous as i am no different from an oar striving toward an island.
fine rare print of a pearl oyster image from here.