I.
child
black forest cuckoo clock
sitting on the swings,
what pretensions?
what chains, old blood on silver
what union of palm and rust?
hanging from heaven, there
is a tree line, there
Uranus cries in acid-green;
there is no ground.
but the light swirls out of sight
offstage now still dancing
black forest cuckoo clock
still dancing
child
i cannot let you go
i cannot let you go
i cannot let me go.
chained to heaven, there
the darkness ebbs, where
faces rise, there
where Uranus sings,
unwilling
to speak a word
in my clutches.
prison, the sky, the light
the lie, the jar
with heaven. with Uranus
with you and i.
keep me safe
keep me safe
keep me safe.
the jar
i hold it holds me
holding it —
the swings swing
life-giving white zephyr drowning
the swings have me.
(in my clutches)
II.
and that night i brought scissors.
and like they did my umbilical cord
in the first place,
i thought to sever it.
conjoined twin, i & i
rattling specter in a tin can
leap free, free, free
from me.
& can i let you go
can i let you go
can i let me go?
next morning brought me a match
turned gladly to my redwood chest
and the yellowing calendar in its heart
lit, snuffed. lit and snuffed it
again.
Solomon's seal on a tin can.
now
i have heard the chisel toll against my cheek,
between my eyes (across my brow), carving
like the touch of rain or winter sun.
i, cliff, cavern, treasure.
i have heard the sea-tides come and go
their comings & goings, trick-or-treating hands
caress like spider-silk, linger,
then hold on and pull
a shroud
off corpses of wood and flesh and steel
whales and wrecks adorned in carpets.
crimson-brown-green carpets
line my heart
washed ashore
your brave new world
swinging swinging
