Dead Reckoning

I I write myself
to sleep I scrawl
and twitch a bit
before the dark
the utter dark
of I am not
appears

II a case of dead
reckoning retrac-
ing step after some
step after time
after time or
„I remember
how to get home“
I forgot to go

III in dead places
we are there
a celebration
cerebral, uncouth
dance me to the end
the sharp end
of a movement
cut short

IV my lover I
have brought you
to this edge
poor grass
a very thin
hue of green
no flower there
is no bloom now
is no field
the rains have come
to skara brae
and the wrathful god
atlantic

V a welcome
overstayed
or late farewells
or something old in me
something is past
or of the past
I stretch my flesh
my fingers pull away
from my shoulders

VI sex is
the sea rolling
atlantic and
sinking pacific
rain washing
clean the dead
that return
in sex

VII where
the long street
roars roars an answer
yet nothing
yet stands the dead
had hoped at least
for dream visitations
or old seances

IIX lifted
from the ground
placed in strange
imagined places
„I remember
how to get home“
I walk into
traceless
space

IX expansive
is the sea
mother of grounds
sky’s sibling
the beach drops away
into the hills
there are crosses
upon the hills

X the dead
accompany
they whistle
a potted ficus
long mistreated
half a carcass
half light
warm air
the dead reckon
tomorrows

XI savanah
a long path
from the first word
or image
or eye that was my eye
or hand that held
or the first
impression between
tall leaves of grass
a walk

XII your body
beside me is much
like my body
beside you
we breath in a cycle
and share ancestry
we are cracks in
the same surface
in us the dead
make tomorrows
and cities or lights
or songs but always
are we stretched
along a winding path
from our bodies
to a body in that africa
from which the dead
alone
remain

XIII I write myself
awake the dead
are washed from me
the smell of sea
the rolling sinking
spaces gone into
the drift
of air

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~ von gedichtblog - 2. Mai 2014.

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