Now I jump between the horns of the bull,
When before, that
midcenturymodern
lookintheeye.
I was alphabet arranged in space,
Couched in the language of
couches
and transferences.
But now I jump between the horns of the bull.
Now I boom and glister qua the tuned drum.
Now I quit the illstarred youknowwhoyouares.
Now I quaff bourbonblood in the lifevein.
Now I am qubits in the peaceable network.
Now my hands are quetzalwings to flashandflash with.
Now I sever the balloonstring of the quandary.
Now the quackisms are poems.
Now the questioners shed their marks.
Now I thrum quixotically, spreadingoutandoutandout.
Now the quintillionth is enough.
Now the quintessential is nonessential
and I rest.
Now the quintuplicating forces could never match
the magnitude,
the magnitude,
the magnitude
of my
voltaic stillness.
Bud of fortune. Alternating petals. It opens. It opens. What forecast is mine→ to cast
fore and mine to be. each state. each politick of pluck from grip. mine emasculated
fore the forceps of nowness→ !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!!
!!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!!→ No more to the fore !!!!!!!
!!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!!→ No casting for the lure I am. The trite things
are true !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!! !!!!!!!→ So I conjure beauties. imps of symmetry. with glintful
smiles sharp. Still, It opens. And yet, It opens.
So let be. (The imps unbloomed in body.)
And I casted claim the right presented me. The alternation as nation of stillness.
The swearing The screaming The tears The snot
As bless and lilt.
→I whisper the emerald earring
I faith the future in rapt presence.
the nonexistent-real as child and the left-to-right
of life and name
as tearful stupid superstructure.
But eventually,
events. What will I do with
the future’s tense→
I will fall the heart down footpaths of instance.
I will kiss the tawny plots.
I will look the black long. the brown deep.
Delimited now. Delimited now.
I will prove a god to pray you here.
I will pack a tongue to promise you.
Coleman Edward Dues is a poet and MFA candidate at The New School, where he serves as an editorial assistant for LIT Magazine. He is also the Donald Everett Axinn Fellow at the Academy of American Poets, where he helps to facilitate the Poem-a-Day series. His published work can be found in SurVision Magazine.
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