Port AuthorityEric Abbott
Suss in cant comes clean, plums glutton, unsung tongues, singed. Go blind child slow into any new harbor. Every disaster is mined. Every mine somebody’s sister. Every artery somebody’s dumpster. I neither despair nor presume, I am. Nothing within me makes me wrong. Smock of filth, smut bath, Dis-dress, in submersion savvy is the trick. Bridal shower, daughter shrine, altar piece, what of it. As a bride-to-be, showered in wet sequins who could love a beaten man, who could be beneath me now. Silverfish swim in our correspondences, firebrats in others’ heated exchanges. Littlest sentients, life sentence, commutable drive. This spill, albatross, necklace of Hylas, of man having passed, whimsy all over her splashy accessories, a wake, diamonds extracted from coal ridge, move mountains to get the goods, downhill, everything finds its way here, finale with fireworks. The definition of quest: endless attempts to get back to that undivided, liquid, existence, crawling from the water, the ditch, the crotch into the garbage, the grail, the grave. Say no to cave painting. Some things we love for other than what they are, for what they aren’t. If felching salvation, missionary, position yourself before a friendlier door.
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