another long poem, extremely rough draft

When words still existed:
I thought of paint eroding

faces, everyone

standing in a line
that went back for miles.

All evening sitting
at the top of the cliff, holding a book except the wind

kept rustling the fucking

pages.

There is a picture on my cellphone
of my brother throwing

a wheelbarrow into the
window

of a church.

He beat some guy in the head with a wrench—

its good when friends become

bookbinders.

We spent nearly six hours killing lizards;
later on, you peeled their skin and threw them into

the valley.

It’s been years since I thought of reading Dante—

rain
eroding the face

of a statue.

Turquoise thread; the remnants of a tapestry.

I knew it was a mistake
when you decided

become a historian.

In the sea is a star: in the sky
is a universe.

They met me at the entrance to the temple, next to the garden
where you spend all night growing shadows.

I wrote my name on a piece of parchment
and threw it

into the fire.

i need to find some way to put these together

The man with the flamethrower tells the children
prepare to be annihilated,

we will grind your bones
into bits of dust

so small not even

the clouds will care for you

anymore.

A whole evening spent sewing a
fucking raincoat.

Last year everyone was still talking
about the death

of the sky-god.

They put the corpse on display in a museum,
and for months,

the clouds were nothing but storms.

Beware of the voyeur with a foot
in place of his face.

He is thinking of stepping on you
with his mouth, and

afterwards

nothing will be the same, no matter what
we do.

Immolation: burning trees in the forest

You are all made out of vegetable matter.

Vine is a shitty replacement for thread
when you’re trying to

sew a sweater.

He spent almost an hour rubbing his face
against a cactus,

and when it was done,

he nearly had an emotional
breakdown.