Sky Saw

Slathering in packets, skulls surrounding in the hour of my way

Sucking all my weight up through my body to my ideas

My heat, my limbs, my lust pulled into dust, days

All the scramming shit and mounds forever wedged in here now

In such strobing robes of light of we

And overhead the sky increasing, already having sucked its surface spotless

And underneath, the light-horizon, torched with tunnels of new smoke

Soft bodies blurting out a scrim of black so long and wide it could not be measured

Shit burst in replicate commotion spreading through and through the gone

Though my new eyes inside the eyes inside me

Older than water

Wider than all air

Opening the floor you’d carried in you hid forever

Floors into the day

In the room again I turned again to see what I had become

Inside the turning soon I tried to stop as I had started and could not stop

The day was spinning, so I was spinning

I found the room controlled by light

Spools were bursting from some center no longer included in the room’s shape

The screen had quadrupled in its size

The film was blacker than my fever

The shape had disappeared

Or it had moved to some point in the room around me

The room just shook and shook

My spinning in the shaking at once made the other seem like calm

Like any day at all forever

I threw up gray

I threw up gold

Each time I said or thought or felt inside me the want for it to stop it went on twice as fast and twice as hard

I threw up all the colors I remembered

All the colors of the Cone

I felt the colors all surround me

I got down on my knees

I went to squeeze the day against me in a warm way and found it no longer at all there

No fold but just my arms now

I felt the air turn inside out again around me though in a different way than just before

And in my acknowledgement of knowing it had done that it did exactly that again

And then again then and then again then

Increasing in its pace until I could no longer tell when it had happened

What was becoming

Under great sun, without number

We were so large now in the house now

The houses there surrounding all surrendered and made cold

We were liquid, snug with vision, so much of all that someone stitching into me, stitched

We in the day had such dimension

The rooms drawn cold and clinging to my face

In each room there was and would be someone

The man, the men, the child, me, you

Each of us a body

Each in skin

All of it thinning by the hour, in the house, our whole

Each room around our mush went on for our whole lives each

The mold grew quickly, barking color, prism panes

There were gardens

I was young then, I had a burnt mind and clean lungs, I had a body

All of we did

All of we never have

There was wire

The weeks controlled themselves and passed in ash

The years were greasing

The house all bloated and the choirs in our eyes

The girth of burnt flesh in the hardened ocean

The liquidated sun

The way the ground had lurched to smack the sky

To mash against our groaning bodies, squeeze us leaking out the sides

All bent in black above our format

Billions

Edges

Ages

Around each sound the world went on

This had happened many times before and would and would and would again

Floors and floors of doors for years held up above us and below with our skin folding into cities, waiting

Unto no threshold

I’d asked you not to come this far

I asked you suncloaked in the blanking

Those turned up backwards in the smear

Those who I would recognize even dismantled, bring them to me

Bring me those who I would not

Each of us another day for us beginning

Please, as this light is too much light for any hour with our name writ in the crease

You there folding under no night, or laying silent, or walking low on along a longer wall

Now you are in here

Now you must watch our shape revolve

You cannot see the shape but you can be it

It is your body in your sleep

It is the blood in your cerebrum

It has been always

Nights now this house is very still

The walls are walls and air is walls and you are walls and I am walls

There are the birds

Their eggs lain in our folding

When I move my mouth I hear them hulk

I hear the words they must surrender

I hear them spit up in their babies’ mouths, into yours

The words

They cream and cream inside my mind for hours

This long evening

Any evening

A song comes out but there’s no sound

What hold had come for us again, what years of frying nothing in clasp of corridors encombed, the blue long buildings in a prism captured and ingested and choked upon and bent and shat into the light to writhe again among the manner of a person, a brimming body with out lungs and load of veins milked without waking, it would not bend, it would not cease, inside the mounds I walked for hours even unnamed and was still right there with all the towers underground in tones all ending and beginning in such succession I could no longer recall having heard any single one of them alone at all and had always been only on in endless drift of furor, there had never been a wall, no edge of leg of lymph between me and my mind or child or range of age, the Cone had pulled us all apart again only for pleasure, a ream of bees flexed from our squat, the machines we had imagined in depression to have beings to have bodies to have glow, a tired light that filled the houses while all through all air the words went on and books turned open and emphatic spraying ink into the ink, any word forever having changed unnumbered times up till the instant of our seeing and looking down and framing in, syllables in their eternal damage milked and quilted through what linings any hour could contain while through the halls our skins changed textures and changed tone and did not move and the digits flashed all through our eyes where we were hungry or were horny or were blown, the child inside the child again all screaming disease eating money humping torrents watching serpents controlling nothing in the tone’s light in the Cone’s name come down again to clasp against the blank we’d always aimed and build edges and build rooms there and resound while for each inch there were a thousand faces and for each face a thousand eyes and in each eye a thousand colors and in each color every sound and in each sound all of the words already named and unremembered where in each memory a lock, locks laid in doors and doors unending through the milk there into corridors we called our flesh of lard so large we could not shave it in the hour of the sun and so again must split again and live it and begin it and need more and never have enough in any instance to be silent and eat the magnet and live where we had already been before