i want to unfold you.

i want to, i want to
tell you what it is i have found
up on exiling those
leaves of wet
cabbage:
after
the soft cells &
veins & tissue like
blue & intestines have been
unwound, stilling
the nerves, i want to tell you

i do

i

want to speak to you
the way my skin puckers with the swell
of water, the taut
motion of exhalation

i do

i want to, i want to
unfold. i want to unfold
you

like now

i could say
no,
but look

& motion to some where out side
of the picture, i could
turn the tables on the sun i could
run the colors to
sleep i could chew through to
blood/ fat/
meat & i
could chew through to
where
you are essential but
i do not want to, i do not want to, i want
to
undo you from
the sheets: your feet, i want to
find either
the line of separation or
the line that closes you together;

to
compare & contrast
the texture

i want
to tell you,
hey, did you know

your skin is cotton
i
want to
sew this to your fingers
knot the twigs like
twine
show you
fire

i do.

i want to
live under the city, i want to say
to you we
are sober as stones.
how both of us think of the eyes
of potatoes, how both of us think
of laughing.

i want to unfold you
like numbers on my tongue, i want to
calculate you like bread
i want to
curl you to dry.

i do &

those dimples in your palms.

i think i could trace out the history
of the world in them.
i think i could.
if i gouged out the roots
of the buildings, if i tore up the train
tracks.

i think i could tell time by them.

i think i could.

11/18/2001

Posted on 11/18/2001
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