Voices

a room; tall, thin metal walls,
windowless. vaccum blown
in pulled back by winds.
a billow, a jagged lung
billowing tin song. i did not come here
to this place but here i am.
hear? i did not come. i did not empty and throw
the bottles or crush the cartons - telltale signs;
trail's careless crowds leave behind. so much
garbage left to cover and let whither.
the fields gone white and glowing
in the midst of this green season.

one revolution ~ round motion; the shape
of a life. my blood through these
intricate wrists and ankles
to meet in my chest - a flock of small wings
scattering, meeting, communal and then again
lost amidst the clanking vowels of other's speech:
i i i i love i want i need i know i
need i love i think - steam forced
through a smoke stack that
smack-back sound, that pulse.

a circus of echoes - so much sent
through firey hoops, balanced on back hooves.
pre-packaged music worried into unhearable tangles
and words made unspeakably smooth -
without traction or distinction, i pace
these surfaces and fall again i fall, all alice'd
through the big top metalic smoke
stacked upon itself in vertical rows.
three rings in my ears ringing words
vast scatter of verbal dominoes.