Out of this hardened block of sugar,
I carve you a sugar egg.
I detail curls of frosting: green leaves, red ants, blue bats, white whales, black ink, brown dots.
I leave them to cluster and dry in the aphasiac insides and I paper you another egg.
I paint one eye, leave a circle for the second, leave an open mouth, whiskered, shellack it bright red, and scent it, voluble.
It attends to the space, the gaps, and gathers the past.

fireplaces urinals woodstoves tombs the air was so agitated little winds seeming to cross one another and go all ways at once and the custom in that country had a little framed photo of the dead on each slab sarcophagus with a glass plate covering it and the way the panes fit loosely into the grooves of their marble frames they rattled like all the bones in bardo

visible: textile becomes not a clothing/piece of cloth, but a collection of yarns, and then of fibres
invisible: we inset a strap so that an object becomes something, itself, out of its parts; we hide the labor of attaching the strap, this book is just held, simply, and has always been this way

[woven fibres (textile) ragged out & pulped, set in pasty soup to screens & booked, struck undumb: text]

the pages themselves of the book are invested with mycelia Willie
the pages themselves are wrapped around the columella
the pages struck by inked lead become intelligent
present spore material for furtherance of algal proto-organism

(columella cups and stalks in mess of lichen harvested out of the hunger-organs of an arctic hind & eaten with whalefat & sealflesh, the only wegetable we ever had)

Poca. VA

appletrees grew on either side of the steep street offering every year late summer/early fall their good seedling fruit to our pleasure and we had a kind of proprietary feeling about the particular character of their stripings and russetings and their sweets and subacids and big Spicebush Swallowtails kept the qi moving gently or restoratively up and down the hill even as the coal-owners began to spit us out after so many years of chewing and the pavement cracked up and people started to move away

When one thing leads to another and the first thing dries up, peels off, flakes away; thus with fruit, thus with follaje, thus with wind. Le deuxième oeil, bleu-blanc, voit du vent. Not the agitated contents of the wind but the wind itself. Why the air is moving, why the blossom-end goes punky, why the heart withholds its presence: questions.

The flesh of the fist of my heart,
the distance between me and whales,
the space between my skin and yours,
before,
flames!