after George Oppen

 

1
 

what can I say 

as the hoop releases the staves 

 

The wine cellar is cold air

and boiling water forces the memory 

of juice through pumps.

 

No mechanism 

exists to mourn

the ideals abandoned 

on the vine

 

 

2

 

I heard you had to hand 

over your belt on arrival.

 

If we grow, we no longer fit inside

the dream where we pull pins,

 

throwing grenades

at our own feet.

 

We rearrange the pins, 

then the world's feet. 

 

It was ourselves

we did not love.

 

I pry a flattened finch

from my grey sole. 

 

 

3

 

I cannot feel my hands 

covered in honey

until I try to wipe 

the honey off. Death 

reverberates 

 

in the tank,

a drowned sparrow 

with a twisted neck. 

Is she a prophecy or result?

 

Is it easier to break

the shell from the inside?

 

Being judged, being left alone,

I want to tell everyone

about the cult of belonging.

 

 

4

 

Your face mourns

every morning

duty provokes us. 

 

What if listening were currency

and silence could keep

the ocean in its hands 

as the ocean rises?

 

 

5

 

Curiosity is a two 

headed catbird

 

my limbs divined 

desolate water

 

I let you drink

my enjoyment