n jewell
Draft(s), 1.1

In the beginning I had wanted to start with words
In the infinitive: to praise, to ask, to repent, to thank, to part, to refrain 
But I won’t skip the ads, and now here I am, as several girls
Knees publicly bent, bellies flat and tan as steaks
Above the white sand—an image that says
“We are full of somethingness”

Now i am here, directing my speech out the window to the camera 
Before dressing in the too-late light— i am trying on your sleep—
I don’t know how we got here, but i can’t be the only person
To have skipped the party to find the other bed.

It may be something i slipped under conversation
It may have been as simple as waving
To someone, and someone else waving back, that got me here.

I’ve gotten particle confused
For a moment, i believe the word cathode is 
What catheter means, or rather what Cathedral means, but like a geode.

I’m trying on an image and sound In an attempt to simulate
A perceived and perceptive body.

I’m writing this through a burnt index
I’m writing this through a going-away party
I’m paying the meter when no one is looking
I’m mistaking unions for centricity
I’m getting a table facing the doors

The vacancy was already articulated in all its variations

Here, the arbitrary has met a moment Here, the flesh has been enough
The form is pulling against the sensation Let’s not distill this

Don’t be so direct
Let this become unspeakable

Oh, let’s only stop when we run out of copy paper.
Oh, language that seeks its own clarity, and resists illumination
Oh, the answer as an oscillation appearing so quickly it appears to be whole. 
Oh, now light reflected by a mob of spiderwebs
Oh, now a candied codex, then a manuscript in drywall
A steeple lined with flour.

A road in which the shoe feels acutely The stones beneath it
A road that turns its back on itself

This rock, or that rock?
Gold like this, or rock like that?

I’m walking a road,
And now here am i,
A peach in one hand Pouring water from another.

I’m following a quiet fall down 
Until leaves of paper
Are frozen in a river—
But any river, any binding 
Would do just fine

How can i be in between two simultaneous 
States without sacrificing light?

I’m washing the landscape, in any case.
I’m pushing rocks into generalizing perceptions 
And the subject is fading away,
The rock is surviving the collapse
Of the theory on which it was based.

I’m stringing prepositions along
To drag up some dust into the air 
To measure out silence, to gag any 
Potential interlocutors.

What else to hope for but a lyric beyond sound?

—Breath is becoming so firm
It is a folded page
—Breath is realizing itself as fruit 
To put breath on the table

A first and last with only 
The appearance of content: 
Air on air//air on air.

Air is coagulating on air 
Coating the same breaths
In plaque over and over

But what of the water?
If the water has a memory 
What does it dream of?

An emulsion of water
Into water, a dissolution 
Which becomes itself.