I have truths I have yet to claim

Angela Veronica Wong
the written boundaries. the blue lines. my body grid into streets. skin against wetness.
wetness against air. movement; resistance. a red dream. a read dream. a clothesline.
the ocean is on the bottom/ of everything. like being/ in an echo—without language, with
only/ the interruption of the body/ in space.
i can see from here what is left— your rhythms opened.
fuck me like cleaning
a pumpkin plunging a hand
into cold, wet, pulling
out a fistful of slippery seeds,
clumps of tangled
hair, a tumor leaking
between fingers
This body brought to surface—
I was
a girl at her first bleed, thinking
there it is, there it is, I thought
it would never come.
bald thing, this
clenched muscle, smooth
and still like silk, like
a forgotten lunch, it is
heavy with lost purpose.
in the net
i have truths i have yet to claim:
there is no such thing as one-way action like:
i read you. stop.
you fuck me. stop.
geometry is divisive. lines, angles, bisection. parallel and // paralyzed.
divisive is strangely pleasing to the eye, a futile // symmetry.
triplets // in 4/4 time.
Sometimes I forget I share
You use
the same words
I use.
But not these:
monsters the sea creates
to desire is to live, if only a little, in the possession of an object.
maybe we were never meant
to raise to the surface that
which lives in the depths—
to have/ is to lose/ the grammar/ of
in freedom—fluorescent in their
self-illumination, gargantuan and
strange-skinned they are
landscape and borders oceans open in deserts
skin, bones, blood distinguish pronouns
from other pronouns
may/be an/echo/ as zero/ as language completed
Fold me in the direction of origami arrows.

No comments: