Gretchen Mattox
space of conclusions
the heart extends to consciousness: your gift: longing
scintillating lake and then air of non-being (receive me not)
so God could learn to love your own broken aspect season of quakes
and aftershocks house with palsy
beyond recourse: The I wholly ether
No desire for body or voice.
Gulp air. Hope: out of the question.
I was trying to find some compassion.
Shame said, there is refuge in ruin.
How could I rest?
We lived in shame's fullest expression.
My period, slightly macabre in cloud prints
On white sheets.
(Where the lines of memory don't meet…)
"etc."
I was explicitly drawn inward.
Worm in the brain.
The toilet stopped.
letters of dominion
I gave and gave and gave until I had no way back to myself
all night and into dawn the owl's other-worldly hoot hoooo
the past: a syringe with pink fluorescent syrup that numbed the hips
what did it mean to have to double back?
point where I would have gladly given over my life
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
wound that opens into forever like a river blood-let into sea
pure oblique
as if you needed pulling me pulse gardenia up over your face to give
as much as I needed tongue frantic scent through window ruckus
let myself be off guard unbound tired of measured increments
steady steps of the uncertain to hold the rail out of habit only
we let words go by the wayside travelers in another dimension joined past touch
ocean air lines blurred outer/inner
gardenia blossom vibrant body on the pillow where you'd placed it
when we came back to our separateness such openness
You and your Latin guitar "Bread of Life" rendition of
rent due car broken four years later you would punch my arm retaliated: loser
Gretchen Mattox is the author of Goodnight Architecture, New Issues 2002 and Buddha Box, a Green Rose Prize winner, New Issues 2004. She lives and works in Santa Monica, California.