21 September 2010

Musaf

Musaf 9/21

There is a roll under your tongue – where
you write late at night – the jaw drops and you scroll
the unrooted organ

It is a spoon – held over a flame melting

These are instructions sealed in your chest – you are
made of mud – someone sent you out – unlocked

You dropped your cases – the arms tick
The letters are thickly black and illegible – you are
piling tongues

The scroll is tongues? – It is a dead father’s voice
calling down your throat