I won't keep you
Together matter/mater/mate
Bones restitched, a general blushing
Outside knowledge, corrective cartography
undoing your codes your man boys—
Shoulder hitched up to compensate for the load;
a woman losing hair because she twists it
Here they make her stay inside but there
stared at children braiding hair, husk
Kernel. Wider rather narrow, exhibition you move through
or touch lips of logic
Splits from you in leaf veins, deep green collards
I mention this
ºº
You splits from you, my time on heart attacks
Pump pump huff don't hug me
I know when to get under covers
She keeps the house he has the phone
Veins in leaves but those connotations are fake
Another city I’ll just leave, veins
What goes I send your broken fingers, acres of cucumbers
thrown away
The end of this is a quiet room
Heart vein taking from roots from collared trees
Swoop, castral, flight of reasons
Stay a mammal in the cloakroom
How revenge is flight
All childhood an immigration
Pretentious in form, those reptiles
Glaciers and swans and melting bergs; birds nurse them
You will never get to the bottom,
[then BOOM]
ºº
Roost they look it in the eye your hand my hand
My hand a fossil top-down, pre history, crane of falcon
he/she a far off space
Tell it is like it is | you talk too much
To continually discover the part that's strange
Will remember the recipes when time comes
Same faces lapping up on shore, little sardines
Blowing up every god creature that moves
Language impossible with neighbors, contrary, they do it
A bunch of people don't make a person
I don't know
There's something in the water
You see what's needed, you do it
What you say inside I can't sleep here
ºº
He rubs salve into his heart when no one's around
Jumps under the rain of radioactivity to go ahead
and blind himself
Matching their patterns so they don't feel fear
Had I been his lover
Had I under the ghost of leaves still mid-air
Something in the lungs, helicopter seeds return, free men
Eyes, spindles and distant fires
Bones floating in soft tissue
South parade, cheapside seats
ºº
A women walks covering her face with sense
The nature of looking into a Buddhist shop, full of red candles
Single sheets of yellowing papers
Pylon unconsciousness
Full silent, the lace market moving
Outside just enough dust on everything
I hear my plants their little blossoms
reach to darkness
A quarter century nothing to squawk about
She screams no more fucking nukes and I've seen that
Men pouring sunburns, shoving sunlight into guns
Flashing lights ahead of themselves
I say it plain I say it plain I say it plain
Canasta is a bad farmer, church just faint precision
The cross cross lattice and the flowering beans
Little silver dipper in the rock spring someone left it
hung by a nail
I look at my hands and wait
Laressa Dickey is a writer based in Berlin. She's the author of several chapbooks including A Piece of Information About His Invisibility and apparatus for manufacturing sunset, and the poetry collection Bottomland (Shearsman). Two books are forthcoming: Roam (Shearsman) in 2016, and Twang (Backwaters Press) in 2017.