Timothy Lavenz - Amniotic Dream

8/12/2019 Timothy Lavenz - Amniotic Dream

1/61

Amniotic Dreamby Timothy Lavenz


2/61

2014

work in progress


3/61

I


4/61

1

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


5/61

2

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 whatthat sequence

taught


6/61

3

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


7/61

4

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


8/61

5

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


9/61

6

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 a barking comma

salient

in the utterance

of reading.


10/61

7

All I amis a remnant forgotten

witness

to the happening

of loss.

All I am

is a shifting augurforgetful

in the cellophane

of being.


11/61

8

angel

arms splayedwide silent

earthful praying

cup

of winters fountain

like spring

breath

of eve

the beginning

life

the feeling

of me


12/61

9

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


13/61

10

relaxed

on the bridgeof myself to myself,

I thought of what I wanted,

I thought of what myself,

trailed off into the valleys

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 bridge

going over us

is us.

whatever we said

longinglywent across.

whatever was true

went on

unlost.


14/61

11

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


15/61

12

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.


16/61

13

radiant convection

of nightcoming to consciousness

in my bust

the pedestal

outlawed,

the spotlight

corrupt;

desire

to be more like

what else?


17/61

14

deep into the lyric

thinkingtrickles inklings

of irrelevance

into meaning

lip-balm

for the damned

seizures

seeing


18/61

15

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

now-devouredlike mad

in ethers

pain of

outside


19/61

16

the lurid

frame of

a kiss

a lift

impossible:

alive

amusedabused

adrift


20/61

17

the trappings cascade

tear away and away

how clearly then

we speak to say:

this being was made

to speak this way


21/61

18

I think

where Imnot thinking,

not thought:

the power goes out,

a call goes off.


22/61

19

A silent science

of listeningintrigues

Into the Other

is poured out all reason

Liberated

covenantal trustof singers

believing

Spoke

of innocence

wrinkled

and shivering

Rose

into the clearing

a Host


23/61

20

Love

that onlyhaunts and hurts

The climb

of the supercell

is perfect


24/61

21

beings and letters

return to sendershredded

mourning

the code

in the keep

mourningthroat murder


25/61

22

but as the eyes scanned

and the images danced

as the heart leapt

and the world panned

one grim epiphany

rose and subsumed

all phenomena:

I is that

mechanism

to chance;

I is that

code-cancellingmachine;

I proclaims

the inexistence

of meaning;

I lovesthis world

without me.


26/61

23

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

does not

know how far

it has to go


27/61

24

arid emphasis

or curse:

theory burns

the heart

of the listener,

changes his charge

into crypt-filler,

grits his styleinto curling,

twerks his loaf

into a million.

everyones fed,

no hair goes missing.

the universe

spits up

a miracle:

translucent,

deliberate,

ignorantturd:

language,

suffering

everything.


28/61

25

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


29/61

26

Please, light,

dont leave me

Please, light,

leave

Please, light,

be me


30/61

27

vanished light

the sky

with rain

is typing

I am trying

to remember

my name


31/61

28

The Naming

given you

my embrace,

my word,

my start,

my turn,

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

go away:

was on time

to go on living

someone else


32/61

29


33/61

30

II


34/61

31

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.


35/61

32

The brain

of whats realconceals me

from my feelings.

No one

will ever understand

what were feeling.

No one

will ever

be here.


36/61

33

Spread out in one quark-bubble

was the whole human impulseto make love and trouble,

to fable and travel,

to frolic and scream,

for which we had

no more than a moments

panic 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 oversee,

was enough

topop.


37/61

34

Paceshaken,

hed 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

feard so haplessly

strewn about his stay;

but vile morality clung,passions whip clacked and stung,

cancer ate away the hugging flesh,

loneliness won out over every harmony;

shouting became the timbre of love,

jealousy the yoke of the gaze,

demand the object of prayer,

hatred the essence of tradeand who could ever dare

tame that? God himself

could only bow his head

in shame, could only suggest

the one constant impossible thing:

to show the pacestricken

what most they fear:

the halting of all initiative,

the undoing of all contracts,

the collapse of every fortune,

the end of every ceremony,


38/61

35

crowning an incapacitated I can

with 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 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 souls

who ever distant utteredtheir impotent, hurried Stop!

before being lost in turn

like everyone else

who wanted to go further than thought

and instead ended up

mangled,forgotten,

dropped.


39/61


40/61

37

Gods of idleness and taste

chary of the splendorous Bloomsooner strive to give their take

than into being strive to move.

Apportioned then by eager vow

is the Bride of all lost things,

the chaste and veiled old Body

in which space beats all feeling.

Jilted words, whittled, break in,

sad, taciturn, with failing figure,

passing leisurely, pouring through,

fireflies listless in the evening coo.

But the blessing instant remainsdistinguished from all timed fate;

for they all remember in the Main

the truth that never falls untrue.


41/61

38

The beds all day

my eyesshimmer frozen.

A life of ones own

cannot be lived.

(To give to emotion

all that is human,all that there is

commotion in the abdomen,

lucky and

roiling.)


42/61

39

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,reflect the perfect signing tone,

uncried, unkept, supersonic.

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 cold

bellowing inside thee

spheres, squares, surfacingto ring out

hollow rings:

ode,

ambrosia,

cantor,

king.


43/61

40

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.


44/61

41

O sadness,

revive me frommy hatred of myself,

deliver me

from the wasteland

of my presence,

give me back tothe nothing

I so relish,

teach me

to accept again

my core abandonment,

guarantee

one last time

that I will go,

and I will go, sadness,

I will go on after you

to love.


45/61

42

thought I was so tired,

but could not sleep;

thought I was glad,

but could only weep;

thought I had nourishment,

but bread alone could I eat;

thought it was free,

but no: in too deep.


46/61

43

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.


47/61

44

Inside my edge:

spoilt tissuesrusty valves

ruin-genitals

ghostly fluids

brainmush stew...

Outside:

communicationlinks true

verbal elevators

you.

No contact

to my own

skin

appearance's reality

the truth of the world:

co-

intrusive:

mutinous mind,forlorn kin.


48/61

45

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 carts now been scraped

cross old Nagarjunas back;

the shrill axis of accessechoes vocalless back

the scar,

the tired claw,

the clogged sieve:


49/61

46

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.


50/61

47

Nothing but nothingness,

there is my startnowhere to go to then,

not even to art

though I try

and I do not lie,

still so collapses: my heart.


51/61

48

Ghosts pull the strings,

erase everything,make it come back streaking,

dancing like tomorrows

in the pastI,

pleasant puppet,

host of torment,

laugh and cringe,

singe my sorry feet on some sick songI,learning-to-live dwarf,

critic out in motion,

satires tired sow

now ghost.


52/61


53/61

50

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.


54/61

51

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 crass.

but the final moment,

the final friendship,

the final,bites back.

I'll have made no painting

to bleed

on your hands.


55/61

52

Decays not the one

who will work usaway.

You can see

the flayed limbs praying

still in the encasement

where language

seems to hone a waythrough disgust

and barely doesnt.

I took pleasure there

in the final time:

the rust coronation,

the sediment blessing.

Took time there

now where its all

your day.


56/61

53

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.


57/61

54

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 shame

by the instep of all dust

the standing truth:

What trusts there

one unique instant

of luck or gazeaway and up, of

not enough yellow pages

to speak that nature.

The desk crawls

with people

like a king crabto the last dusk,

in sliced wood

squashed and patterned

home,

where it warps, splits

and pinches

the earth.


58/61

55

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.


59/61

56

Silent is the lonely heart

that stumbles and crumblesand knows not to start:

Let him then

just come back to his art

and be delivered

from the grave

hes offered in

Let him

be dropped

in the middle of his thought

Let him

withdrawto the offering

of his name.


60/61

57

What Ive done cant last,

what Ive shelteredpassed.

I lay down

in the bedrock

of my fear.


61/61

Down

to thecage

where

trickles

page:

praiseof what might

come in.

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Timothy Lavenz - Amniotic Dream

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