storyskin

"It is all the language of the train carriage—dusty, woodsmoke, warm little cross-murmurs of song."

—Ian William L.

remember me to you

"Remember us, now for the morning plays golden."

—Ian William L.

I am with you. I am loudly

See beautiful things, and know beautiful people, that all demons blunt, all days to hold you bright.

want/fear/line/address

Translate:

She stands on the lawn, in her sweat, and in her night, and ends her life.

myimpossibleandyouacross

I read books, and slowly lose words, more and more. Then a red bird across my throat. Then my blood, and a child standing in the doorway. Then the night sky is thundering. Then there is a song for this sweat. Then there is stolen.

I love you innumerous. I love you gallant.

I am not writing. I am break out of an earth. Help me, champion—cavalier—wretch—god—wound.

I can't (clockwork) express (discomfit) what (the lambs) holds me.

What is not experimental, this cardboard, and skulking, over long, cold arms.

The only thing I ever wanted was a head full of daylight.

I was in the sky, I took measurements

Loathsome to steal from myself—twice, and I am clubbed, till thrice, I let out.

(and then ratnest—skittering endless places.)

I am best when staring into a chair, and think it honeycomb and bee sting.

Still, these flashes of a great dog, before my world spinning upon.

I am borrowing, and must do to its time.

Then I think of the deep midnight of the ocean, and lightning that plays across the sky.

(but I feel a toothache, and wrenching eyes, and postcards, and death, and the sunlight/bruised elbows/world.)

I can only think it the tide without a moon inside my mind.

I am awed upon a vast empress.

I have no path of use.

five

We become our greatest memories.

with quiet hands

"The world is a much richer place when you take every person alien to you for their greatnesses, not break them down with your faults. See them go all with quiet hands."

—Ian William L.