Sidewalk to Antarctica

A thin crust country

Flags

A deck of cards

Script fiction
upon daytime

Magnetic youth
sea choke sun
adrift a graph
polarized

The only politically neutral place on earth
uninhabitable by us
without our inventions
to assist

Palpate ice for fuel
dry
years
cores

Gone
fishing for the apices
of fractals

Teeth of’em

Snow-
flake
pieces

Ether R.I.P. Solange

Sunday I spent in the observance of silence
Recognizing how space manifests in absence
I subtracted many words and movement
from a daily arrangement – a rest

What can take place in an expanse is boundless
What I can feel on a Brooklyn rooftop lacking moonlight
is the shock of oxygen after life in a womb.

I can see how small we play
how inferior we convince ourselves to be
When we mimic the morphing of clouds
How great and divine is our capacity

I ask the urban ceiling to blind me tonight
to wash my eyes with the broad reflection of tempered street lights
muffling the hum of dramas and masquerades
An endless charade of conversation exacting how to do
and what to interact with whom we injure
and where to coerce a choked reality

What can we murder under the sky? What can we sculpt without textures and angles and dimensions of sight?
How complex a body is built to move and be moved
yet simple to witness majestic truth – time as space

I will let the lull of nothing kidnap me
I surrender to the extent of no extent
the parabolic points of infinity—a gong
an echo and perpetual flight into the depth
of absolute arrival to the tune of om
and I vibrate with perfect resonance when all is gone

I will become the sister I have always wanted

I will become inappropriate for city life
fly a trapeze in the jungle
maybe do some mechanical work on rocket ships for extra cash
I will become a hobbyist for underwater paraphernalia
I will become the kind of old person who always buys the same kind of shoes
when my soles have worn thin
or at least live and die with someone who does
I will become a spinster who reads a French newspaper on Sundays
understanding not a word, but femme sole
I will crochet all of the hairs and dental floss I find into a new outfit for the Statue of Liberty
I will become the sister I have always wanted

the skyline: a cutout of skyscrapers adjacent to the headstones

Everything asks for an engraving beyond the graveyard.
Like the sleeves of the riders rapidly representing a rainbow
Charged and Ephemeral passing swift in Deep V rims of wheels
all colored hoops and drop bars and flat bars and riser bars
and all manner of hats and caps and bells and hoop earrings and dangling things
off the bodies we will never know as we dance past Sad Gleeful. We ride on saddles giddy together as we cut each other off Unspoken
etiquette constantly a broken etiquette. We choke together
over gridlock over carbon and the east river running

I wish I knew you in 1903, but here's the Queensboro majestically
manifesting terrestrial rays from the morning sun and the Manhattan
and the Brooklyn and the armpits that unite them. Signals change
and seagulls always stay the same. There will be messengers below
guarding the passage to no end suspended
no beginning cantilevered.