The Porcupinity of the Stars. Gary Barwin
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an open mouth
a glimpse of the planet
its fleshy inner core
plush H towel people
we mist the sky with our blue plum lungs
make heaven heron-dark with our breathing
fog the limits with spirit and blue exhalation
in each of us
lungs that are H
for we belong to the air
h
I say
H
because it is a pleasure and a surprise to breathe
I cut off my left, give it to the sea
others give their right
father, sister, mother, shoes
I look out at the ocean
heart, kidneys, lungs, brother
I wait for the consolation of water
under the papers of my desk
I discover
a small stone
yesterday I invented fire
today
I will create
a new tool
I will call it hammer
I pick up the stone
I smash it against my forehead
the clouds part and there is thunder
the trumpets of my ears
signal those to the east of me
those to the west
an army sets out across a blood red sea
a tiny baby is propped
in wet sand between the shores
I will call it baby
a useful tool
neither one thing
nor the other
NAKED STONES THE WHOLE DAY LONG
shaman of the wallpaper
headboard priest in boxers
we wander the glad morning
where the sighing future waits
a sweet flower surrounds us
our fingers the dark plough of anxious hours
sun falls on the melismatic bones of heroes
each cup of clever sky clinging to
the city like a snowflake in the mouth
this is the earth
fences more tolerable than dreams
jockey shorts in the jaws of
each well-formed heart in every pleasant land
dancing on the road I feel
oxen fall from my shoulders
mother, children, father
wading away from night
there’s a seraph on my bosom
fate on apathy’s glimmering brow
lips are blue fire lashes
or idle thought
an hour an eye I love
earth’s contingent language
ancient blue petal
the girl pushed
a long-handled broom
along the floor
Father could hardly bear it
tears streamed from his eyes
silent laughter transformed his face
his body was shaken with
spasms of delight
he was a bird
no bigger than a dust mite
looking for his place
in the world
his lifted wings were
invisible to all who knew
the broom as broom
the pleasurable eddies
of the Big Bang
the broad sweep
of time across the floor
the updraft of memory
those who knew
felt the swoop
of Father’s wings
saw them raised in quaking splendour as
he created from the spasms
of his tiny body
the rippling laughter
the swept-clean ghost
don’t do it, I said
choosing a piece of toast
a perfect fried egg
but she unhooked her jaw
and swallowed the sun
now it was really dark
and she stood up from the table
breakfast was over
I couldn’t find my running shoes
or my briefcase hand
my dreams were of the moon spitting
as I tried to play chess
my abdomen was a sand dune
shaped by the wind
into the grains of a million
directionless games of beach volleyball
an infinite number of piglets
gnawed on my fingers, which were sprouting
uncomfortably from every orifice
there was no coffee
the paperboy crawled up the stairs
then ran away
bakers made bread but the yeast didn’t care
and nothing rose
the day passed
my wife called friends
arranged a carnival
crocheted a thunderstorm while I slept
she made lunch in darkness
used the bones of the dog to retread
the parson’s tires
and the sun
a hero with but one vast and burning face
travelled all day
through the sparkling labyrinth of my wife
when it was time
she lay on the lawn
and the sprinkler kicked in
we