Cody-Rose Clevidence

AND WHOSE VOICE, FOR TH FIRST TIME, MOVED NO ONE

 

                                               OR, “I CAN BE GENTLE”

I don’t say daffodil when it is full on summer, just so
I expect a sort of radical honesty from my surroundings

“but neither sorrow nor tears nor fear delayed me, lifting
his body from the ground, and on these shoulders,
these shoulders, mine, I bore Achilles’ body,
armor and all, arms which once more I ask
to bear: heavy they are, but I can bear them”
–Odysseus’ claim on Achilles armor, Ovid




I

high above th earth ]] green crust of sin— green bloom
upon th earth [[ high & deep upon th earth ]] dendritic watershed
of th Arkansas ]] plume & vein of my green heart [[ neck where th sky
arches, neck of th swan, sworn, his hands, bow loose at his side
]] shit I will not say out loud ]] O daffodil
my winter— what I know—

]]weary of

]]great as th throat of sky, clenched
]]as th throat of sky

[[for th days of night are upon us
[[for th days of night are also days of reckoning


incandescent imprint of th tree on eyelid, blue sun, ore & fault,
vein, oar, pair, pare, steer, cleave, idle, clear, breathe, gently | on my face—like that—
then crows, I am leaving {leaving} each place— a reflection held up to th sky
–of each thing—you have to trust me— simple—to hold yr breath—in all th world.
a body is an animal— a body is a pack of crows alighting on each tree—I am each tree—

you are not my own.


[[wasp and quartz, each
which, pain— each which
/ burst—


chew tobacco, where it stings


orchid of th most bitter, bitter tongue


                                     {or, root





II

is that salt— or is it snow— those terrestrial
crop circles spun by th endless endless combines
of my heart, dappled, striated, pierced, crisscrossed,
veined, wearily, patiently, painfully, I go.
my legs are numb and tingly, th long
barrel of my rifle hot, th cattails bruised and battered, th
sky bruised and ringing, th iris that blooms in
th winter of my eyes turns its bruised eye to th ground
scattered w buckshot. I will gag th lilies w a gasoline soaked rag, come
spring. stack tires around my fig trees in th snow. oscillating wildly
between chickadee and bird of prey, between snake and discarded skin
I roam, eagleless, un-nouned, an arch and a bridge between myself and time,
an echo and rhyme in th deep baptisms.

I want to call into question th holiness of this forest;
th snake that lives in my throat; th warm air
of th wingbeats of breath around my face.




III

we shoot guns until we run out of bullets
[[I will say unto you
there is no merciful
voluptuous
passerine
voluminous in th folds of night there is no
mercy upon th lips and teeth and watersheds
of Arkansas, all words go bad
into th night ringing like a dull bell
in th heart where each stroke disintegrates
around yr swollen face, eyes, where I have placed
my own self, ringing into th voluminous folds of night

and we are out of bullets and it is cold
and each word goes weirdly
into th cold silence of th night
and mercy is not a verb, I will
coppice my fig trees, I will
lay th body down.


[[I will ask you to lay th body down






IV

yr teeth | some fruit

                                  verily

                                  each


                                                    grasp each


                                  | which pit

               whose hand



apostate
apophatic
| no falcon



               him that is th flute
               & th reaper of th flute
               firm fleshed fruit ripening
               in November— confusion
               of many forms—




]”some bright morning”
]beeswax on th orchids &
beercans in th bath

negative theophanies

                                                        by mine own eyes


                                                                           once

                                      & then again


                                                        by my own hand





V




hear me
u of th
north wind cold first
frost flower each
soft blown breath, bow
down there is only
permission in th answer,
permission in th field
permission in th marsh
and of the bitter flower,
falcons, nests,
get a grip on,
sunked fruit, got a
whitish bloom there, hardens
th sugars up under th
skin, there, each
coyote dead by th highway, u
ride it out w what grace
u can muster, listen
to me and I will tell you:
u must stand
as each flower
must stand, acrid
persimmon, stupid
hawk circling
in th still air
of yr heart go
on, get
up
]]









IV

this is not a condemnation, but neither is it a prayer.

think of th bacchic rites
think of grief
think of summer, of every summer, think
of grief, think of th best sex you’ve ever had,
think of bodies in pain, think of th sensation
of relief, th palliative need, think of grief.
think of th act of laying
th body into th grave, think of alms, of
th act of honoring, receiving honor, kneeling,
being bound, think of memory. think of summer,
laying th body down, remember digging, think of th
body you would turn to, blue shirt, a noise
made half in th nose, half in th throat, think of
turning over in yr sleep, now a noise
made mostly in th mouth and throat, think
of bodies sleeping, turning over
in their sleep, think of grief. each
masterpiece was made piece by piece.
think of th sensation of loss, think of th
sensation of coming, think of things to
hold in yr hands, think of cups, and dirt,
think of skin, and eyes, and teeth. bite
th blue cloth and think of
grief. think of summer. think of
th memory of th loss.

 

THERE IS A POROUSNESS 2 TH HEAVENS

                                                                                  I’M NOT ORDINARILY A PRAYING MAN


“that was not dew upon them” Ovid



made a punishing necklace—
unto th heavens— go—what th
heaviness must ask— go—then—into
oh go into— god Damn— this
persimmon of frost— this
unarchable heaviness— upon me
— god— not to breathe—heavily— th god
is snoring— this— is a disaster— they say—
and I agree— damn— that’s heavy, a heaviness,
this—or awkward—this— give me back
th necklace of those things—this summer—the body—
time—sullen as my heart which was an eagle,
stood, upset, preening, in th mirror of th sky

because these are th confines of language

how everything
just—like—is, as it is becoming
what it was—

soot from stood, from hoof
here from ash, steer, horizon
is my name o preen, all preening things,
for dawn does come and you, you must stand, naked
before th window, like a fool, dick limp, as if you
didn’t know what was happening
to you— in you— in this orchestra each culprit
lies, then begs, & then, eventually kneels— are you ready to kneel, yet,
when you are done lying on yr belly like a snake, felt yr heart turn—in th back
of the truck—where it was too cold—each letter of my breath
breathed back—no angel—yr eyes, each non
angel of summer— assholes— I swear— so go
—this heaviness upon me—
{on me— in me—}
what I need is
to reach out, to reach
some real place
in all of this.

flint-shaped, heavy as a tooth,
licked, by bower, happenstance, place, has
come— each eyes, snake eyes, withheld, then gave
permission, when th frost—each fruit—th
flower was, and given, gave then

from ash—white box—snow is
— is isn’t, is—there—in th snow—
half moonlight—half face—take this
fruit—how grief is—all I can say
is what it is to keep on living, be a thing
around th other things—I don’t know
anything about anything about being:
we are not equipped for this.

the change had already taken place— in me—
in me— in me— ] punish yrself in th stillness—
it is {will be} a gentle punish— {these} shores, low
graves, sunlight, some crows— {in me, persist—}
hold [this] in ]mouth {on} ]chest [hold this] in some stillness
{give back} one stone and where we | sat down : a stillness—go now—
and then another stone: that love
expands or contracts around us
impregnating all th things

what each place asks of us—for it had begun
swollen as th new day— even tho we don’t know
what to do with it— even in th thin light—
have mercy— on each new day full
of {tendrils | angels | eyes}
— what right do I have—
to any of this—

th ozark
witch-hazel is blooming, December 2018