SHE SWAM NEAR TO IT, LUCID
Schizophyllum commune
Audio: Schizophyllum commune performs/reads.
The clotting factor disappears
in one wave of your sweet arm.
Half moth cornering rib swing silique in opal,
desiccant shelf forgiving its own nauseous turn to vernation,
fluid apology poured from the cloud of ash.
The dependance marks the skin of the fruit
cup your hands around that never knowing,
like coyotes swiping at the water.
You feel it, in waves that stop you from telling anyone,
when you are wading into the mine, mending the distance
I've tasted every mirror in a two-mile radius
I've waded through knee-deep sand
in rooms of the house I didn’t know about,
finding them again only through moments of watery eye contact,
feverishly drawing their constellation onto my hands before it fades.
There was no meanwhile.
She swam near to it, lucid
she chants under the waves, “there is no sound”
you hear: crackling dust, metallic trill, sine wave, disappears
someone is electronically controlling your dreams
you wake up like a glass spilling over, dripping onto the floor.
The lights swell halos in the reflective pool.
Wheezing lightly, knots loosen,
the chest swells up and down
bloated full of candytufts, long winged silicula,
tiny bursts of air from their (wings/lungs)
carried us away.