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The Amniotic Dreamby Timothy Lavenz
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I
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the open duct
never conducts
breaks all my
notions of
love
peace
thought
wrings action out:
animation
pagination
autochthony
blot
sequencesof absences
belly-breathing
crowning
talk
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time:
surrendering
to the current
in the rock
love for all the creatures
feature-caught
love for the measure
mammon brought
love for the missing
ought
love for whatthe sequence
taught
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echo for the present
is what forthe present said:
to halo
over horizons
of hatred
to be blatantin the amorphous
element
to have a word
about the alias
in our dust
to be
trusted
to
us
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are you feeling
the forerunnerof God?
never to be arrived at yet:
the possibility of calm.
oh but that too:
the possibilityof connection
tease taste
tulip
arm.
oh too:
fingersbreasts
strokes
errors
logos
stars
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cant read
the mindit tells me.
cant speak
what it speaks
to me.
cant stay opento the tune
I swim in
essentially
cant but capsize
on falseness,
abuse
cant but see through
to the dark
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every horror
grapplinggroping
every mannequin
straddling
stroking
every ghostgroggy
going
every ashbag
focusing
numbing
every pirate
lonesome
roving
every lassitude
grounding
molting
every alibi
demanding
devoting
every parachute
landingsoaring
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All I am
is a drooling storysuccumbing
to the maximum
of things.
All I am
is a pooling porosity
belovedto the seepage
of dreams.
All I am
is a groveling gossiper
coaxing out
filamentsof seed.
All I am
is a motioning marvel
enfolding
the correspondence
that rings.
All I am
is a local minimum
summing
the cogency
of lead
All I am
is the barking comma
salient
in the utterance
of realing.
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All I amis a forgotten remnant
witness
to the happening
of loss.
All I am
is a shifting augurforgetful
in the cellophane
of being.
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angel
arms splayedwide silent
earthful praying
cup
of winters fountain
like spring
breath
of eve
the beginning
life
the feeling
of me
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anxious
on the wingof tomorrow
summoned
to the pinnacle
of possible
openin the flow
of laudable
grown
to the limit
of powering
waiting
in the mirror
of love
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relaxed
on the bridgeof myself to myself
I thought of what I wanted,
thought of what myself,
trailed off into the valley
of the world Id always loved
didnt need to knowwhy it was lost,
didnt need to know
why it was off,
didnt need to know
why I loved
only after thatI thought:
the bright bridge
going over
is us
whatever we said
longinglywent across
whatever was true
went on
unlost
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bubbles of truth
channel throughthe ether
faces turn outward
expose all
interiors
minds conjureantidotes
to fearful
hands touch
on the silence
of meaningful
language
brims over
to see through
answers come out
like air
to meet us
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desire more vital
than any living needsustains me,
whispers me
to the ears
of the lost
at all costs
wrapped aroundthe open artery
of a scream...
cringes at being
known
we are not
would goright now
to the coffin
were it not
for the fantasy
in between
were it notfor this love
believing us--
infinite
animate
amniotic
dream
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radiant convection
of nightcoming to consciousness
in my bust
the pedestal
outlawed,
the spotlight
corrupt;
desire
to be more like
what else?
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deep into the lyric
thinkingtrickles episodes
of irrelevance
into meaning
lip-balm
for the damned
seizures
seeing
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adance
ascantaskew
asunder
in this
horrid clouding
mirroring called
you:
I
record
an image
a distance
a disease
eternal
try
to focus
the winds
of dead
echoes
on the bodyripped apart
by language
delivers
truth
to the others
we devourlike mad
in ethers
pain of
outside
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the lurid
frame of
a kiss
a lift
impossible:
alive
amusedabused
adrift
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the trappings cascade
tear and away
how clearly then
we speak to say:
this being was made
to speak this way
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the power goes out
a call goes off
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A silent science
of listeningintrigues
Into the Other
is poured out all reason
Liberated
the covenantal trustof singers
believing
Spoke
of innocence
wrinkled
and shivered.
Rose
into the clearing
a Host
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Love
that onlyhaunts and hurts
The climb
of the supercell
is perfect
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beings and letters
return to sendershredded
mourning
the code
in the keep
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but as the eyes scanned
and the images danced
as the heart leapt
and the world planned
one grim epiphany
rose and subsumed
all phenomena:
I is that
mechanism
to dance;
I is that
code-cancellingmachine;
I proclaims
the inexistence
of meaning;
I lovesthis world
without me
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In darkness
a lark wandersin the name of
peering farther
does not
give a hoot
about tomorrow
does not
wonder why
it cant be tamed
will not know
how far
it has to go
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arid emphasis
or curse:
theory burns
the heart
of the learner,
changes his charge
into crypt-keeper,
grits his styleinto twirling,
twerks his loaf
into a million
everyones fed,
no count goes missing
the universe
spits up
a miracle:
translucent,
ignorant,
deliberateturd:
language,
suffering
everything
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loose imaginations
starringthe reason of trust
turns the image
into bust
corporeal
in love with nothing
to do with it
cannot find the way to it
but does
birthing
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Please, light,
dont leave me
Please, light,
leave
Please, light,
be me
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vanished light
the sky
with rain
is writing
I am trying
to remember
my name
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The Naming
given you
my embrace,
my word,
my start,
my absurd,
now its overnow I go forward
recessed light
shows me better
aches out
from the words
is into you reaching
for bold,
for passion,
for true
let you have that
in absence
let you go away:
was on time
to go living
someone else
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II
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Generations of tutors eagle-taught:
natures evil, willdevour what its named.
Generations of letterationalities
for what?
Pretend to be awake in thought.
Pretend to name God.Pretend the Thing has got
a thing it names.
Pretend child.
Pretend us.
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All this weary ought
to writhe and lesson;all these dreary Bogarts
to repay.
Smells
from the Motherland
wash in and shake
the sea.
Shakeeverything
that can be.
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every letter funnier
but I hope to see high shadows
where I walk.
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Spread out in one quark-bubble
was the whole human impulseto make love and trouble,
to travel and fable,
to frolic and scream,
for which we had
no more than a moments
praise to dream,
for which our one bright day,
limitless in its want to be,
constrained in what it was to be,
absorbed in metamorphoses
too encompassing to see,
was enough
topop.
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Paceshaken,
he tried to subduethe cruel and pounding
flight from epoch to epoch,
corner to corner,
word to word,
tried to plunge the briar
back down into the seed,tried to trudge the tower
back down to rock and clay,
tried to torch the errors
fears momentum
had so haplessly
strewn about the way;
but vile morality clung,
passions whip clacked and stung,
cancer ate away the hugging flesh,
loneliness won over every harmony;
shouting became the timbre of love,
jealousy the yoke of the gaze,
demand the object of prayer,hatred the essence of trade
and who could ever dare
tame that? God himself
could only have bowed his head
in shame, could only have suggested
the one constant impossible thing:
to show the pacestrickenwhat most they fear:
the halting of all initiative,
the undoing of all contracts,
the collapse of every fortune,
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the end of every ceremony,
crowning an incapacitated I canwith the silence of the dead messianic:
those who arrive not,
speak as speaking not,
live as living not;
those for whom time
is already long lost, gone;those who wait and accept,
drenched in thieves sweat,
a most horrible gift: existence,
hell-bent by social destiny,
at rest in the downfall of things,
unified only in remembrance
with all the distant soulswho ever distant uttered
their impotent, disgusted Stop!
before being lost in turn
like everyone else
who wanted to go further than thought
and instead ended upmangled,
forgotten,
dropped.
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No more path
from torporto providence.
No more wisdom
to slicken
the long choice.
No more deadlocksto change
on the doorstep.
No more verse
to carry forward
the Word.
No more way
to hear
what we heard.
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Gods of idleness and taste
chary of the splendorous Bloomsooner strive to give their take
than into being strive to move.
Apportioned to them by eager vow
is the Bride of all gained things,
the chaste and veiled old Body
in which space beats all feeling.
Jilted words, whittled, break in,
sad, taciturn, without failure,
passing leisurely, pouring through,
fireflies listless in the evening coo.
But the blessing instant remainsdistinguished from all timed fate,
for they remember in the Main
the destiny of what there is to do.
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The beds all day
my eyesshimmer frozen.
A life of ones own
cannot be live.
(To give to emotion
all that is human,all that there is
commotion in the abdomen,
lucky and
alone.)
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The springs arent wicked,
the missions not insipid:out of all fallen petals
to write the tell-tale ending
of existence sonata yet cling;
to sing the bulb
into nights moon outstretch
oer all waters down-bedding,into perfect signing tone,
uncried, unkept.
How easy it will be!
to live up: each one
impression for the motor
fortuitynaked photosfor the heart-held hold
blind
in that damned eternal
remnant of spring
bellowing inside thee
spheres, squares, surfacingto ring out
hollow rings:
ode,
ambrosia,
cantor,
king.
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Taste of my cauterized
thinking this eveningand Im regressing
into speeches million-
folded and revealing
that destiny motioned
forward by linking
nature to my nature:
gulpblinking.
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O sadness,
revive me frommy hatred of myself,
deliver me
from the wasteland
of my presence,
give back to methe nothing
I so relish,
teach me
to accept again
my abandonment,
guarantee
one last time to me
that I will go,
and I will go, sadness,
I will go on after you
to love.
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All my pain
in my own onetomb. Loseable,
stayed,
unknew.
Whereas real
I was you
to touch you:the truest gaze
I drew
between our times
and triumphant
scuttled
through.
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WATCHED
In me: the seeds
of every speech,
but I cant
speak.
Sets up erect
mans eternaldevil-squeak:
words squeezed
from the Mind
through Hell bleaker
than all historys line
dissolute inscripts
from the incipittortured in the brief
quilts anomie.
In such night
deprived vocation
bereft glad images
I was ledat deprivations last
to Gods grave
named at last:
The cart nows been scraped
cross old Nagarjunas back;
the shrill axis of accessechoes vocalless back
the scar,
the tired claw,
the clogged sieve:
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time,
too roomy,too open,
too black.
So that I will lose you
in that; but
here,
take it,see me
on my knees,
racked.
Unclasp,
kind demon,
and pray.
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Nothing but nothingness,
there is my startto go nowhere after then,
not even to art
though I try
and I do not lie
still so collapses: my heart.
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Ghosts pull all the strings,
erase everything,made it come back streaking,
dancing like tomorrows
in the pastI,
pleasant puppet,
host of torment,
laugh and cringe,
sing my sorry feet on some sick songI,learning-to-live dwarf,
critic out in motion,
satires tired sow
now ghost.
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Presents presence
all displaced;
rats and evil
premonitions
unseeable by words
course through
my breath.
Am I dead?
Am I breathless?
Am I doomed
to outside all being
course instead?
Am I pain?
dear God, give me
nothing to gain. Let me
no longer
rest my head.
Rest, my head,
o God,and give I shall then
no less.
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Brim again
sin again,give again
in. No
finish then:
mourning is
to live
however
grippedin nervousness
dissuasion
stone-lipped-
tipped
then again
into this,
fishingfor my twilight
in your sun.
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MEME
The rind of Treblinka
is chinked on Wall Street Wall;
Canada hums liable in computer code
worse than Babel; Ernest stocks up
like the prodigal son but not
to return the product
or to thank the Fathers seed;Anarchys angelic factory
is commanded by satisfied feelings,
starved wet by apples in our dreams;
each hears unequivocally
the players pre-caring the Truth
magnetic to the point of crystal
Energy, saluting as to the Starthat like David went down
had he.
At the end
of history, guilty; which we are
and cannot say, the dead
robbed all reparation. Have we
forgotten our shameand not only? Ambitions
shadow casts farther
into the maddening hardness
of revenge and foreclosed grief;
down into Hells contemporary
last circle, where the only word
to echo is obey. But closer now,
murmur: the chidings over,
the meanings all run out; law
out of service gets undone; being
gone home and worthless with a nothing
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saves nothing but the outline
of a caterpillar, cold to borders,amused. The messiah
that
came yesterday
to drive justice past destiny
to we who wake and wade
uncomfortably uncomfortably to sing
the dwelling-prose that made menow chrysalis for the crystallization,
now grave for what decays in it,
now tired sullen motion to that gate
now antiphon,
now meme.
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Antiphon
The hurdling coddling magnet does not bleed.
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handbleeds on the scarcest
orifice gnawed black
or you saw it or
awe
came at last
and dying laughed
and no morpheme
and nothing
past;
your eye
my see-through organ
that grabbed it,off-the-wall down
clasped it,
sheltered me glass.
but the final moment,
the final friendship,
the final,bites back.
I'll have made no painting
to bleed
on your hands.
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Decays not the one
that will work usaway; you can see
flayed limbs praying
still in the encasement
where only language seems
to hone its way.
I took pleasure there,here in its final time.
Took time there
now where whatever is
is your say.
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A crystal note
runs over my eyeliddetached as it is
from my agent.
After your eye spoke
and heard
the same rain
there was no oneno more.
The street
gorged with them
buckles and
gives way.
The crystal note
rings,
hopefully.
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An embroidered page
weathered yellow by the sunshows on its black veins
no signs of going green,
no sign of comic age;
seeks there a code or a cage
where it frays,
where it tries to namein hope or in shame
by the instep of all dust
the standing truth:
What trusts there
the one unique instant
of luck or chance, a gazeaway and up, of
not enough yellow pages
to speak that nature.
The desk crawls
with people
like a king crabto his last dusk,
in sliced wood
squashed and patterned
home,
where it warps, splitsand pinches
the earth.
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The care of a touch
robs the night of its angst.
If I
on the silence of that edge
dont come back,
forgive me.
Come with meyourself
to that edge.
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Silent is the lonely heart
that stumbles and crumblesand knows not to start:
Let him then
just come back to his art
and he will be delivered
from the grave
hes offered in
Let him
be dropped
in the middle of his thought
Let him
withdrawinto the offering
of his name.
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What Ive done cant last,
what Ive shelteredpassed.
I lay down
in the bedrock
of my fear.
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Down
to thecage
where
trickles
page
praiseof what might
come in.