unction ++ naxalite flight // dead


friends // zone ++ apsidal // poem


for walter benjamin ++ sore

m a t t _ h e w

m

o

o

_ r

e

unction

Today could be last 
Night.
Spoke-dawn,
Just so.
Adige’s glass docks, for show,
Arrive.
Understandings
Retreat.
Little maiden bits and pieces.
Against
Dawn, mountains to
House, beneath cool
Noon, by the seaside.
Chapter
Of a sphere. Spatial enough to
Hand you and I
Longing. The hut. Earth’s lien.

naxalite flight

Were
The
Heart
Not
R
U
N
On
Sprung
R
H
Y
T
H
M
Would
The
Heart
Be
R
E
D
?


Were
The
Forest
Not
F
U
G
I
T
I
V
E
Not
A
Verge,
Would
The
Forest
Hold
Against
The
Police
?
The
State
?
Were
Food
Not
Gotten,
S
A
T
And
H
A
D
Together
As
G
I
V
E
N
Would
F
O
O
D
Be
Food
?


The
Ice
F
L
O
W
E
R
S
Burn,
Is
Their
O
R
A
N
G
E
Color
What
Burns
R
E
D
?

dead friends

Rome’s alleys are washed in the blood of Fascist and anti-Fascist graffiti.
Sentenced names. Fateful names. Helpless, the hands scrawl out fate.
It is fate the perpetrators run guns for. Dead echoes. Carnate remnants.
Heaven’s contingencies. Observation cannot allay breath’s prejudice.
Thrush hides low in the heart’s bush, still, and beating, between thorns
And dust, under the needle of the moon against the dungeon’s shaft,
The four shafts, cut into the four walls, so narrow, each admits a thread
Of moonlight, four needles weaving four threads for starlight’s dress,
Dunning the floor of the dungeon for cloth-light, air clotted with vision.
The dungeons are washed in the blood of anti-Fascists, and partisans,
Of noms de guerre who La Decima tortured and killed, score after score.
Fascism’s operatives are beholden to its targets and all its brigandries,
Including love and torture, form its grammar, the lines its tongue trawls,
On wanton ropes of blood, if sea snails and brass shells hug, noosing,
By arms, and legs, and necks, asemic populations of breath, and hoisted up
Corpses, enfleshed in every room by fires and knives mutilations hide,
In every room no vacancy keeps, to parody, thus unite, a residence on earth.

zone

Words
increase,
they
cannot
be
increased,
they
incarnate
now
to
warrant
due,
as
smoke-clouds
on
the
mountain
ash,
beleaguer,
in
qualities
as
if
snow.

apsidal

Winter, the fire of clarity
The once-hot-starred skies draw closer.
      
      
Winter, the feudal desire
The once-winkling irises fix, their steel.
      
      
Winter, the hot and cold
Blood’s Midas cannot ressurect breath.

poem for walter benjamin

i.
      
Portage, being the gross of all marches.
The reverse military pageant detaches.
Security sees the cowed parties off to sea.
That sift over the waves to civilian death.


The light, being the water’s excrement:
Exile’s unction. Nowhere: agapē’s kiss;
A cool breeze. Bora act. Then, a wind’s
Marbled blue, and bone. No act. Zone.


Wordlessly the sea keeps the occupation,
Shores open, the prison gates stand agape.
Impregnable, the Word hold. Portation
Marches. Sufferings of movement are air.



ii.

The light, being the water’s excrement: 
Shores open, the prison gates stand agape.
Wordlessly the sea keeps the occupation,
That sift, over the waves, to civilian death.


Security sees the cowed parties off to sea.
Marbled blue, and bone. No act. Zone.
Impregnable, the Word hold. Portation:
Exile’s unction. Nowhere: agapē’s kiss;


A cool breeze. Bora act. Then, a wind’s
Levantine. The forward military pageant
Attaches. Portage being the gross of all
Marches. Sufferings of movement are air.



iii.

I keep and you keep, without
World through
Revelations, without
World through
Reconciliation,
The violations untouched.

sore

Old wound’s isinglass brightens to dying.
Life’s memories’ squat.
Justification would-struck. Could’s mask
Forecastles, (and mars)
A counting-out-game. Old can of Christ.