« Julie Doxsee | Contents | Michael Broder »

Mark DeCarteret


w/each breath

I am sucked in again


though it always claimed nothing

rhymed w/it but din


or the heart as it burrowed in

deeper & finally deep


like the last time I’d let lion

have a line to its self


proof that I had begun once again

to uproot all its secrets


step over me please

we are nothing more than elbows & knees


& me w/my swashbuckler’s pen

clenched between these falsest of teeth


I am only attached to the world

by the words it has tried keeping from me


dead leaves cupping water

tissues mangled into blossom


my feet are reluctant to take me anywhere

when neither can agree on my history


a janitor’s mop barring the entrance

to paradise’s longest sleep over


the only mercy I’ve been shown is the wind’s

that one difficult note that’s played over & over & over




more concessions this morning

several chin strap elixirs

& a bic pen discharged from all figuring

how I’ve flipped through my fears

w/an unblemished finger

while I feasted on holiness

like an echo long confined to a cave

& what was mustered was meatless

an almost archaic condiment

these slips which they’d predicted

though I knew nothing of their product

when I’m falling into silent conversation

my power lines coated w/sleep

& that pacifying hum

if an ageless & colorless rampage

has come to visit our dreams

what would one need to know

to have it sentenced to a book

to unpack & restrain up these thermals

I hammered more scrap into heart

& wound up w/a hunger for things

these the terms for addressing my hand

such as quilt there I said it

& quilt again we’ll return

this established while only a head

more flinch & dictation

who can taste resurrection through the salt

what is made out is faked

just a little bit dark & a little bit light

so let’s have the word for it

from those speaking for most of us

in a part of the world

that is aroused by the scheme

the unnecessary weight of more fliers

& a month of convertibles

(or was it mouthed the whole time?)

as much as something can be murmured responsibly

the hesitant flash of uncertainty

so I checked in the mirror again

a rain only slightly recovered

my bones sugary light in the toy-r-us parking lot

I should have flown, ran, etc.

before the last of any angels

turned blue from these formulas

& my eyes became tied to what voids me
« Julie Doxsee | Contents | Michael Broder »