Dawn
by Liam
Dawn pours through my earholes
clutches my eyes
drives sand through veins
she’s angry with me
Shakes her fingers, they clench at air,
rosy fingers notwithstanding,
dawn hat angst dieses morning
lips so full,
i thought figs were brown
but they’re vermillion
no color on earth quite like it,
iridescent
butterfly wing lips
dawn blares at me
telling me to stop and swerve and keep going
hips like antelope valleys, begging to be mapped by lonely hikers
before turning on me, their horns spiralling
insouciant slurps at a straw
pay attention
swerve
dawn is angry with me this morning
coffee at midnight
an accident of ordering in foreign languages
a tea that isn’t
coffee and cocoa and six hours later I am praying upright
face against tile in someone’s shower
for the room to stop tilting
the spray heats my eyelids and cheeks
the water smells of a fume, a penumbra, a gas emitted from the heart of the droplets
expiating
expiring
expulsing
exploding on porcelain, hot.
chinese white tiles
and i can’t remember the night except the thrusting and moaning;
my back is a stack of razor blades
dawn is angry with me this morning
sie hat angst fur mich
ich kenne das
sehr, sehr gut.
There are lights in the hollows of my head
lights in the hollows of my eyes
they have no switch that I can find
they go on and off
levers turned by faeries
sprites and lesser goddesses
(though I wouldn’t say that to them)
manipulate my chords
my long ropes
pulleys glissando,
wearing rough around the belt,
making me chug chug chug along
a road going to destination in the droplets
breathing fumes of factory water
pumped into chinese apartments
tiles on the wall singing the song of woe
of a thousand pregnant women breathing the fumes
flowing from the gristmill
that powers the water
that flows into showers
Meeting at 11,
swerve, steady on
Meeting at 1,
swerve, steady on
Lunch with Rose, my Rose, antelope valleys, petals of ammonia and clay, painted red as the day.
Dawn is forgiving this morning.
swerve, steady on.
Liam Scheff is author of “Official Stories,” drilling to the core of the gooey religious center of science.
