6 – ian

without hands i should want on knees in front of the sun until the time comes to kill quick under
today’s fluorescent lights, sitting down and eating the bodies
of tomorrow’s predecessors

my mind’s polarization has become too long and untied.
in the interest of human progress
engines kill my nighttime thunderstorm failed meditations

i heard the quiet comments gray
now hot days
inviting back on themselves and me

i saw the grand falsehoods that, grasped by beauty,
hid love in our fingers and
hate in our palms’ perception

i know that it should all please quiet little boys, or anyone’s getdown,
to fulfill all expectations into grass, that is, to make silent

i see all this rather in a field and dirty, not at some time in our modern day
body countable homes, that isn’t what i want-
for girls to recite at eachother with bullets,
devote their hands to absurd children looking at men who
cover their own eyes better than worms or pebbles saying,
“human capacity for love at which most fingers cast the praise
stacked with unnerving precision…”

eyes uneven like bathroom tiles, glances like unsure flashbulbs,
waking with earth stained feet away from me and everyone i meet
i stoop as a child drinking out of cathedral footprints
guttural noises echo out of the human mist

i’m no longer interested in what we call the great curtain

no,
dear aspiring policemen,
children prefer the holy unity of things.

let’s synchronize our eyes,
achieve a perfect pitch in a head of empty streets

stop walking on anymore when your feet are gone-
miles and flights that betray words before i or he get anything
from the wind

for your words i will hand you detached broken ears
ears that float in latent wombs

though surely alone in the cavernous moments of our minds
we can look at our hands like overzealous thoughts
that sought in every facet to escape solitude

and let’s synchronize ourselves
even with this head that looks like it could,
through broken eyes,
see

see the room behind multitudes
see the perfect instrument of what is meant by love

see the approximate glow of light that feels endlessly thick,
the ideal image of design,
a death of lonely definitions,

broken eyes that could see our doctrine republics.

maybe our old minds will scrawl young litanies

but those luminary shadowed figures bend down over my head and whisper
words that run passed ears and into stained gone minds
i lose loose inflections and the sun through a buddha dusk’s smoke
obscures, with indecent regularity, the electricity of unbeknown minds
that i bend through the lens of my eyes

i see the projected image of oneness
inverted and large
covering all i leave

even reversed back through the lens
beauty is a rhythm understood

let’s reverse our eyes and blink into mirrors
let’s look at our souls

realize that these bodies are the image of our capitulated preference
so for your image i will hand you nothing

for your broken ears i will give you mine the same

and we will get nowhere together with lagging vocabularies that sag
under the weight of our words that wither

i see the one time escape of my thoughts
long and free
rewriting all  of me

~ by engelberger on May 1, 2008.