From The Last Great Adventure Is You
— after Deborah Butterfield’s Hudie (1984)
Steel not when they spew & spiel how real recognizes re:
active :: {‘d}heal—
Leadeadhorsen :: I too steel the nevereal
-ending
day-rue,
the whistle while you re:
fuse & lessen reins, when they un-
eye & simpler-hoof
mis-re: shapen :: when heal{ed}
against sealed like true :: like
re:: re:made
to simulate in:
active froze & more
liminal craze &
Suspend the grief surgeons peal & Upend
your assailant & kneel through :: yes :: heal will re:you —
when :: yield :: what o to
— ::
:: feel ::
:: —
But fail it
trapezes
& shranks &
ossifies maze
in anyone
’s look &
graze.
How gazed & hard a body can be,
hole-punched & shrouded-tail,
so terrified of every
nudge & wink hitting
simple nail. You flinch hu-
manity. Flee joy, even its less
& -ly. How to believe you
too once moved real,
stride agape, self. –
Assertive & wildly
straight.
So they prescribe whip
for wooden when can’t
a block at least stay. Dewake your assault
with synthesizer & fade, as thwack & grip
still escape. Not an itch of free. If only. Read.
-only. Memory. Look it’s just. A bad memory, grief
repeats,
& fades
into a hull, like an exo-
remains you could tame.
& I tried, dear horse.
I tried, & they can’t
stilllay & prey prey
faster than stray
light when demon
dregs beat into last
stars of polar night
distant & sweet.
& what last stars I away
will bind far
from healing static
& plain say what
last stars die I have
been to have died
anyway
about the author
