Nor Can I Do Whatever I Want




To sit on an organ with 9,000 pipes
Transparent if not for weight
Of the galaxy
We kiss wordlessly
Verging on apocalypse
Or a dwarf disk
Containing only summary
Data based on an unfinished
Novel, a history both cyclical
And conciliatory, at once baleful yet
Loving and kind, its stellar rotational axis
Slowly wrapping through the space where I
Feel my shadow as you feel
Pulled apart, and the evening progresses
From the hand to the machine
From the tree to the roof of the house
From the cell’s periphery to its center
At a pitch so low the music starts
Moving faster with higher frequency.
Moving backwards, I woke early. It
Was raining. I boiled water and mixed it
With lemon, then I cracked open.
Now I can do whatever I want.