THERE IS A FACE BETWEEN

Let’s make for the river, let’s crouch
and sugar. Spray

to peel, transplant this sickness;
there is no sickness Lo. To transplant,

to dig. Somewhere
there must have been a root,

a fibrous lung, loping
and engorged, wrapped around

a stone, and wrapped around
our hardy mule; and tug,

to go. Now, winter
hardy: hardiness may cause

our hearts to die out. Let’s re-gorge
and ground these deficiencies.

 

THERE IS A FACE BETWEEN

A loosening body, 
Coming unattached

Go get your sister
at the end
tasting on the woody side

returns to find too much

And in this betrayal of one's own

the convictive forms
of how they're twinned 

A hood of taking inches
in the back of bodily memory

of first and final
release, a hinge between us



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