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STUTZ / BIO
ALCHEMY
There is
fire for ingestion— our wintering
has heat
warnings—
the season of bleach spills:
fantastic.
I keep repeating
the intention of a phone call
like a chant +
my teeth are jewels waiting
to be freed.
I am an excavation
in progress worked over
by boot treads +
my own desecration.
I am a beleaguered catalyst
btwn. vertebrae + clavicle—
my posture
is too close + familiar for comfort.
Bravo,
an unwritten vowel resting
behind a tongue + molar—
the one lucid fucking thought
I’m still trying to pry loose
like I can’t find the wisdom
I need.
In five steps
I can make up a thousand different
resolutions +
still fail to
swim the dividing distance
between the end of the world +
a sunset—
between the hints of Sunday afternoon pathos:
the pathos of fretting wounds
the pathos of dog ballads
the pathos of exhaust tongues—
there are always paths
to these costumes of malfeasance.
I keep neat deviations
of lineage melodies +
the bright shards
of sky
embedded in my feet.
I design a trap
on an etch-a sketch—
I call it a vehicle.
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