October 11, 2012

white noise fan blades
a needle on a record
turning circles
after the song is done

a pair in black & white
sleeves tan helmets
wrestlers regarding one another

their heads protected
is there something fragile
in their thoughts
their knees braced in white

a third figure horsey tan
stretches a foreleg
lows her head
they are aware of her

the men are nobility sparring
my heart my nerves my pain
this is practice
the rules are clear

the courtesy is real
the courtesy is staged
sorry sorry

o the countries
we send out
to combat the combat

they are unaware of me
this catches me off guard

the chair is society
the floor an arena
what’s beyond the floor
is wild

the men give up society
the women take it over

they share laughter aggression shame
mouths covered hearts breasts
legs overclosed

the girl in the chair is a child

a referee
disturbed disturbing
where is my helmet

the men share colossal embraces
low lowing as animals low
there is tandem suffering

i feel no pity for her
that referee the solo one
i can not see her conflict
in another body

another one alone
sings & so is not alone

then i see them the pair
music & chaos
creator & destroyer
stutter & song
they work together

in a moment of championship
one brother shoulders another
as if succeeding him

but that turns into an embrace
as the shouldered man falls

a little paris sidewalk pops up
oop oop!
another surface is possible

but it is raining chairs
atop our après-midi
this is not that

rural breaks up into wild
rural condenses into city
the single ones join up
& one becomes the pack
in a crouch a lunge a pose

their strategy
their breath quickens
keep it moving
don’t bore the guests

a man in a suit enters
pushes a low rolling cart
the story teller
the lights dim a film begins

a sonar an embryo
waving incremental time
weathers seasons fade
transforming shape & shadow
cats to rabbits turn

having had a similar dream
the bodies arise
rejoin the game
make thunder lions
on the gymnasium floor

they are not fighting
but assisting one another
in a struggle

a threesome lines up
in a movement-sound sync
to a laugh track

a wall of noise
a squeal
a street car rain

the sounds are growing
more & more cutlery
metal coin machine

a drone of blood rushing past

they are aware
of something
above me behind me

is this because
or why
they are wearing helmets

they are beating the ground
as if preparing for
or finishing something

thank you thank you sorry
was that the war
or the moment before the war

team play mixed
with awe & fear
interrupted by grace
group grace

they are children adults
their age is unclear
the are old old
able & young
they have no age

the one in the plaid
is private school girlish
rebel tartan wiccan

against the back wall
one still moment

then the tribe again
hunching crabbing playing

their play is ages old
serious infected
their auditorium
is the establishment

their helmet is an apparatus
of time wealth sport
is an emblem of war
love death

something tells them
play prepares them

ever outsourced
their faces eyes gaze
like fingers spread

a growl grows
from a clearing throat
is taken up by the group
nearing vicious

the suited man
illustrates the sky again
he is cave painting with film

he draws a bunny
the mouth catching something
smoke bubbles air
a pink a blue a lonesome
rabbit sick with the letter E

branching thunder spitting spray
a white swirl that stays
when the rabbit fades
like a world within a world
a cosmos

the team is watching
present waiting on the sidelines
for the dream to end

they put their waders on
waist-high ready to ford
the stream again

the feathers in their helmets
are fancy eyelash forward

they are plastic walking weebles
chanting performing a line
a dance a tender sport

a man makes a song
in a chair chanting
beating a percussion stick

they dance a sexless dance
a ceremonial gruel
but not a country i know

they are tethered eagles
fixing their feathers
in the wind

they sweep the sun & the moon overhead
like islanders natives in a creation story
their heads faces turned like sleeping planets

they dance the directions
air escapes a baton twirls

their dance is repeatable
cultural feminine thankful

they are frigates holding hands
making shapes

until one comes forward
in a moment of expression
to oppose the pride
calling them to a wounded pose

the one facing the many
the pack
she does not care
head high
she parts them

of course they are dogs
& not birds
she knows this

the dream continues
a lead bunny
arms too long
arms too heavy

a round mouth
reproducing bunnies
that trail off
as sheep do
drawing in the night
a continuation of things

a boy & a bunny
grow to a kiss
burst into particles
the dream

a bareheaded man
helmetless undefended
stands alone
a man in a dress of white shirts
elegant breast leg hair baring

a stork of intensity
a train tickling thunder
something approaching worry

a weather vane
he turns
surveys the space
in lengths

agonizing muscular
pulsing to heights

he turns at last to us
we are here
i feel myself here

& the waders line up
& the wall stands witness

& the lone man rushes out
sees himself cries
his cage his fate

the group steps forward
removes their waders
their feathers their helmets

he has led them here
into this undefended space
he stands facing us
they are approaching from behind

he knows he is resigned
he waits as they approach

~ a k mimi allin


October 13, 2012

Paris enters.
Alice is in the dark.

A subtle movement. A spinning. Unsettle then wait. Those movements of the head, like prey, like predator, in the eyes. Repeat after another entrance. Sharp repeats that mark territory, that mark the chest here in the heart.

A violence in the collapse.
A chair that bangs in collapse that is tossed and shuttled and tossed and dropped
this is no student…..

Side by side & isolated
Help then undermine.
They hold each other, they drop each other
Press & wait…& wait.

Each shape supports, each one touching upon the dismantling
Is this destruction? Is this rage? Is this for me to look away, to cover my ears, to watch through binoculars?

She is sonic glue, she is holding it together.

Will she finally hit someone?
And then the night came…..

We erased and smeared, then filled and emptied, as if a huge milk stain
or a blurry fleeting protection.

Test it! Why? then they became the pack.

and then they rolled together at him
then the river
the bird and the flap in reconciliation
flap into continuity
trout and a ritual….that’s the wading
the wading in slight thuds
squeaking and hinderance
and she is growled

She hands him his she
He takes his she
the passion of his she takes him in small whining breaths
a pup might be born in this manner
arms holding off the past
weighted to the future
he is an animal of grace and eyes of wideness

They still fish
and plie
his his is returned and leaving a trail a whiff of predator of prey of those paws and gasps
a white cotton and some zippers and he is not benign

~ Vanessa DeWolf