Monday, February 09, 2009

The Commons 2 // 22-24 (Hermetic Love)

serene in the fields, like flowers
doing our tax returns / listen
these ringing geometric gaps
have forked our voice, these
-o, cancelled-
anyway, lets imagine seven doves
encircle your speaking, lets unload
frost & pearl & grief, bitter
as seven ringtones circle, your
like 'all hell', your name has gnawed
- shut up -
a ringing conducting medium
invisibility / amassed at the border
my cupid heart is shattered

"my work takes me out of town"
-they're all dead in their houses-
o dog inside my voice, inside
distorted frequencies, wild cell
where our love sits troubled
& described / but they're still dead
"my work" / o bright gasoline, my
lawful voice. Flap your knees apart
or, if you like, your brittle mouth
-symbolic lilies & warm foam-
to live in these charred places
walls of grief will devour us
dreams & faces / distorted roads

hello, sweet & distant voice
my decrepit moon & law /
you know, from this angle
the average british landlord
with his non-existent numbers
his voltage & his arson / typically
on simple 'nice person' circuits
goes to dinner most days
sends doves through the post
is, at least, a very good fuck
this is where I scream
the police lines between us
have raised a thicket of beetles

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