light masticated into form of bodies
like mustard clouds memos husking fields
of artificial corn bodies like mastheads branded
round the filtering rings of vision pocket-formed
sockets of exploitation bodies of vision masticated
into meetings into scorn
(i wanted the depth-swept vibrations of her voice to be the re-being of me
i wanted an ablution of the liquid-living brown of her eyes)
light masticated into form of my eyes
dusking into drone a sere-scape of office space
and litter beyond which the cows are really getting slaughtered
and the poor are really killing the poorer
before the rich who are really getting richer
and a sea that is really getting hotter higher and is a hole
anything is wonderful, anything is odd, even you, o light, my light!
of machine that is sound and motion of trees in you
of machine that is shape of hollowness and shape of sea in you
of machine that can put the entire shape of you entirely in you
of machine that is the light on the machine in you
* * *
crystal distance of pelagic flashbarrens
re-silent saltfalls;
or like likenesses of mirrors and megafauns,
flowerodd
hollowaved
thoroughthroughs
thoughtrawled;
or like jellyblossoms of clambared eutrophy
oysterbreathed and figureheaded upon absent whalebump
into undrifting lungloss of seastop.
Andrew Brenzais a social worker and poet living in the Philadelphia area. His work has appeared in GlitterPony, the Scrambler, Sawbuck, and Shampoo.