superbecoming
what a bird's wing to the February air
what a bird’s wing to the February air
a bolt comes loose
the balcony swoons and you swoon with it
then, to the fluttery sound of a heroin sweep
the whole city comes apart, bridge and balcony
the night is clothed in taillights,
an accident grips in its inky talons the very chance
that you and i were never to meet
it makes all this into a clean-bone dream somehow
my bed under the sleepy side of the moon,
i turn and thrash in turns, waiting for you
to bring me my steak-tongued malaise
so i may rise once again and hear the roar
roaring
roaring
roaring
roaring
the men take to the stage, glowing red waves watching over them
at the first note i read your thoughts for the sister you never have
water shimmers nervously in your eyes as the ballad tears us apart
you have lost your absent minded mother and she has misplaced her child
on the phone with Mother, i smoke and smoke and smoke
she has lost three sisters in two weeks
i cover her with mercury, she shines and shines and shines
when she goes, she will remember her 24hour book and forgotten bible
somehow, the city is whole again, a bold dawn glistens
i close my own door, carrying a verse with careless hand
dressed like a burglar and feeling show-shod, i am a spotlight,
a megaphone, and the raised bumps, where blind, i sign my name
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AGAINST THE BACK OF THE BLACKSMITH’S
AGAINST THE BACK OF THE BLACKSMITH’S
i saw you walking behind a still horse from when you came around again
the last time you where here i borrowed a look at the city night
from high above, i wore the wrong clothes for that particular era
the next time you were here i stole the gold clasp for the ship’s china
underwater in front of the gallows window, the shaking wine glass,
a hand reaching through the wall and into the insides of me
i may have acted surprised when the men of science dug up
a dozen silver airplanes from the ancient ground beneath the city
in which you would once live
i may have been startled when you lit the cellophane wick
of the cardboard candle and we danced and danced and danced
i have been here before, do you remember me?
“no”
“yes”
“no”
“i mean, i remember when you were young, i remember the space you took
in this scene tonight, i remember when we made good-byes”
“i remember you and i looking at that planet,
bathed in the light emitted by drowning angels”
“i remember when you crushed the manuscript of time
while you were dancing on the fire”
“i remember running with you, away from them, up and down
gravities, to my studio to uncover the light engine”
so, you don’t really remember me
i will cry about this until you come around again
i will put my ear to the wall between then and now and listen
to an old needle drawing a rough thread through thick canvas
for your feet on the cobblestones
once again
t h e s o f t s u i c i d e s p o t
t h e s o f t s u i c i d e s p o t
after they were both resting violently
he slid into the morning fog (he figured he ______________ he was in a cloud)
his jacket rose a half of an inch above his bony shoulders
fog.
clouds.
manic (sensing something wrong/that the police would ____________ would come)
he ran and he ran to the city, his shoes slick with taillights and rain/fog here too
he ran and ran to the wrong part of the city/there were prostitutes their daddies
hold on.
can you hear that?
he used to think the voices amusing-
once, he took apart the radio because the voices did not stop
when he turned it off/ evidently there were tiny people inside
talking/playing music/and sports/and the price of gold/and selling things
today.
the.
voices.
were not so amusing, and he realized dimly what he had done and he
ran and ran back to the country (evergreen needles, their smell/pinch)
he went to the woods where he played as a boy and took the
magic stone from the leather pouch around his thin neck (veins/tendons standing)
now.
the forest unfurled fantastically before him as he squeezed the stone
creatures (prowl/hunt) all around began to dance and sing
rolling green carpets undulated up and down the tops and valleys
jewels of all kinds sprung from the dirt like sparkling mushrooms in a circle
it was his sweet fifteen (tasted blood where he had bitten through his lip)
he walked slowly forward, head tilted blessed back
on the ground below
he found a spot that was soft and he stopped
black lake blanketed
Black Lake Blanketed
These days I don’t even try to remember it
Tired of getting lost
I close my eyes and wait
I see part particle of the hem of the dress dressage you got married in
It swoops Cooperstown in a curve similar to the one in N O R T H (north)
Inevitably celery it smears like yesterday’s lesson duress on the chalkboard
I open my eyes: nothing
I close my eyes again and wait
Walking through this wasteland racing, counting how many times rind
I found an extremely falter battery on the ground frond
It fits perfectly work into the transponder bomber on my wrist
I open my eyes: still nothing
I close my eyes and wait for the end
Your smile children I can take right now brought it is clear!
Sitting on a bale of hay many counting the kittens ribbon
Their eyes still closed trumpet mewling softly to the honey sun wonder
A thought of it and it’s gone
the architect and the arsonist
the architect and the arsonist
how is it that within the mind at times there exists a giggle, a cricket, and a neoplastic sphereand at other times a constricted, shadowful ocean, its captives moving slowly with the undercurrent? how is it that within the mind at times there exists a house in the woods, and behind its secret staircase, a small boy
and at other times a wall of glass bricks lit by the hazel sky, that reminds me of your eyes? in the mind now sitting with the eyes dry, elderly, counting my regrets
feeling my master's hand firm upon my back, I stand and fix my eyes upon the horizon it is time, in the mind at times, to see the creamy, white arc of a thousand gulls
and to follow it across a thousand miles, to dive down a subway shaft to hear the blind man's songs next in the mind, this time, this must be the first time I ever touched anyone, ever
to know that I would forever think of this as a weathered oak post in the snow against which to measure love's expansion and contraction between us
it is as a raspberry thicket, we pull our bloody hands out, full of gravity I could hear you now, your raspy voice almost gone, faded into a noisy whisper
what you said was lost in listening to the shape of your words, as they were scratched into a wall singing, the singing of finely broken glass, is in the mind
falling, falling slowly enough to live an entire life before striking the ground amidst largish snowflakes, a square folded paper object travels toward me
it is your last letter to me before the incident, written in red reading, I can recall the reason for my actions, I was young
and I longed for someone with which to share my life and i longed to die, because a myriad of scenarios crowded in the mind
not knowing what to do, I stole the heat from your hands one last time I am looking down a 147 floor building from a floating staircase
on my hands and knees, clutching, asking please stop the wind so I go to her and as my arms begin to tremble
I speak softly this: have I loved you less?
have I loved you more? have one hundred thousand silvery fish swam to us
in the darkest night? have one hundred thousand shadows been chased away
in the middle of the darkest night? did one hundred thousand men and women eat from our plates
as the sun rose, warming the backs of our hands? did i kiss you enough?
did I embrace you tightly enough? did I tell you?
I love you? its hard to tell from here, it is fading fast
I am almost to the ground dear alexander,
THE PUSH-PULL THEORY
T H E P U S H – P U L L T H E O R Y
After I had seen everything
I closed my eyes and my mind went
H I K I R I S U M O NE KA M E T U R I K I
All I could think to do was sleep
Laying heavily upon the floor
I heard this slow mantra:
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
Ten’nes’see
Sleep
And then the music started:
A grand piano in an earthquake
Her monogrammed handkerchief floating on the river
A metal bucket filled with nails on the bed of a 1954 chevrolet
A snow-bright syringe piercing the skin of the arm
Now I am asleep and I dream
That I am enraged, so enraged
At the man who hurt her
He approaches me with menace on his face
His fingernails slicing his palms
He takes a swing, but I am very fast
As his arm describes the last leg of its arc
I whisper in his ear:
I am the devil
I will not lay a hand on you
But, the next time you sleep, your throat will close up
And you will dream of being eaten by cockroaches forever
Then I woke up to a searing, dusty afternoon
Filled with hatred and hope
Down the street later, I broke the windshield of a man’s car
Because he was rude to the waitress
As my arm was swinging after the impact
The man whispered in my ear
I lost everything in my mind all at once
And never dreamt again
peanuts for kathryn
peanuts for kathryn
although he tried to be quiet, the snapping of a twig interrupted his creeping silence as he approached the door
now it's all over he thought, and with a sigh he dropped a large pile of china onto the brittle leaves below
as the plates shattered the pieces traveled in trajectories that made up a pattern in his mind, a pattern that he recognized
they were his favorite plates and he had twentythree of them, his favorite number just then, the door opened quietly and a small girl's face showed in the doorway
her eyes were powerfully grey and her hair was extremely curly
the man, overwhelmed by the pattern, fell next to his favorite plates and rested for a bit
all the while, the girl watched, moving her hands fluidly in the soft air around her face in the man's resting mind, visions were coming strongly in succession
the planet earth, spinning slowly, covered in red and green points of light
every green light was a child being born, and every red light was a death
there were even some blue lights for the suicides... next was the circular house that looked like a wedding cake, on wheels, rolling through downtown chicago
it was covered in billowing, gathered silk and there was no one driving it, it was a robot
the men and women who filled it were dressed gaily, but they all had the same face
and as it passed, it made a low thrumming sound like a nuclear submarine as these visions passed through him, he twitched lightly, as if a running dog
the girl walked over to him and began picking up the fragments of porcelain
she thought she would make them into a hat, but she was sadly mistaken
instead, she spelled out the man's name in the bottom of the river by the old house she also thought that the man would like some tea when he woke up, so she brewed some
he was such a nice man, so thoughtful, she thought, so very sensitive in all the right places
should she murder him by dagger as he slept, should she pierce his heart with a bullet?
one thing was for certain, he had to die, he had to die, die, die the man stirred, and came to his consciousness in a meandering way
he started as he saw the blood on the walls of the old house
was it his blood? was he dying? where was that little girl he had come to steal away?
in the corner, he saw her sipping the wrong cup of poisoned tea
THE 0M N I B U S
THE 0M N I B U S
once I burned an ant, focusing the sun's rays with my father's bifocals
as it burned, the angles of its tiny legs shattered and echoed into the grass all around
satisfied, I ventured into the woods, consulting my Audubon book of poisonous (hallucinogenic) fungi
as I lay on the soft moss under the magnolias, slivers of light seared across my eyelids
it wasn't the first time I had seen my own blood
later, dying for sure from the poison, I lived it out, I would lay until I died
before I would go home
from the very dark depths of the nighttime sky
and eating stolen sugar out of a tin: he should have been me and I should have been him
later that night I would kick down the door to his bedroom
and steal his dream journal, bristling with the wires of 364 dreams to cut my fingers
I would float away in a tiny bubble caused by the marriage of baking soda & vinegar
and as the bubble would burst, I would land in a miniature chair with a Bible in my hand later that week, everyone would go to where the Rednecks would heehaw over some bluegrass music
I would step to just left of the center of the sawdust and dance fervidly till the blisters broke
I would be somewhere else during the time I was dancing
and again in that week I would wonder why there was electricity at the end of my fingertips
I would touch my fingertips to the surface of the stream behind the house
and I would see the future I would put my visions in a small black box and hide the box more secretly than the sex pictures
later on, I would retrieve the box from under the floorboards and open it wearing leather gloves
the visions would leap out and hook their barbs through my shirt into my arms
and yet this was before I knew anything about Quinn
eventually, the visions would get tired and settle into a light slumber
that is when I would pour the grain alcohol over the visions
then I would blow a soap bubble over the gently writhing mass
the visions would play inside the hemisphere until I went to sleep this is what I see:
a man looks like me and is on a train in the wintertime
there is a woman sitting next to him, crying
he would like to think she is crying because (oh wait, I can't say this: must hide what I am saying)
anyway, her tears are bio-luminescent, coursing turquoise and fuchsia down her face
the train stops, the man and the woman together lift a large painting out from overhead
it is a still life with several types of fruit, a bowl, and a candlestick
however, it was painted in almost complete darkness
the surface for the canvas is nearly black
the man and the woman carry the painting into a low, gray warehouse
they exit twenty minutes later with two suitcases and walk in opposite directions
I wake to visions all over my body, barbs firmly set in my flesh
as I roll on the ground, I remember your face
I know I have never met you, but I know what it feels like
a light hand upon my shoulder as I walk away from the barn
flames licking the indigo air
this radiant suicide
this radiant suicide
I felt light and heavy steps above the dirt over my coffin on the day of my funeral
I could tell the children not by their weight but by their cheerfulness of gait
I could tell my mother by the sugar that worked its way into one of my fillings
I could tell my father, well, he is right next to me, silent for once
I could tell my wife by the moistness of the bottom of her shoes
and by the red of her toenails pressing the soles making a silken music through the earth two weeks earlier on the third of november I sat at an enormous table and feasted on forty kinds of fish
in front of each dish was a placard stating the genus and species of each fish
each dish was garnished with a different color flower, and the flowers were edible, though very spicy
as I ate I remarked to myself that I could taste the salt in the food separate from all other elements
and it was disturbing in a peculiar way
the reason I am recalling all this is that this was the moment that my soul detached from its velvet lining
slid down my back and spilled between two of the floorboards at my feet
I missed it immediately, wondering if it would be back soon and what it was doing in the meantime that was incidentally the same moment that Henry's soul detached from its velvet lining
slid up his back and spilled between two low clouds into the broadest sky
His eyes had been closed for a long time, since he had died thirty seven years ago
when they snapped open, mine clapped shut, this is continuous life this is continuous life
this is continuous life
this is continuous life
this is continuous life
this is continuous life
this is continuous life
this is continuous life and I know when it will happen to you
you will leave her building at blue dawn, and the city will smell like gunpowder
you will get on the elevated and ride clear across to the other side of town
get out of the train and the city will smell like gunpowder and chocolate
the train will take off behind you, bright flashes of light as the rail arcs
your soul will wave to you as it catches a ride on the bumper of the train
and it will come back to you after two weeks, having awoken to the sounds of one thousand others entering your body
one after the other until you realize that this is continuous life when I died I knew that my eyes would close to The Darkness, Total Darkness
and I would wait
I would wait until He realized that I had begun to live through Him
and as he closed his eyes to hold back the tears
my eyes would open again to The Light, Total Light
when all of us would realize that this is continuous life so as the footsteps fade away on this, the day of my funeral
I know that I need not be hung in the syrupy stretch of my timeless last moment
before and after something that has no time left
I will wait until you awake, I awake again, we awake, and you awake to the sobbing of your family as they lose you
knowing that this is continuous life this
this is continuous life
it is
this life
F L 8 6 2 1 D A
F L 8 6 2 1 D A
As I look out over the village where you had died one week ago
There are lights on in every house but yours and mine
I see you bending in the water tonight as if you were still alive
As I ride in the hand of the giant the village recedes as if on purpose
I look at the roof of our house and when it is no longer visible
I weep and feel a cold minty sensation in my brain
And so my ability to think of life without you remains distant
I used to think I was a fortunate man because I wore a new pair of shoes every day
They were made entirely of cloth, even the soles
Good for sneaking up without being heard
I put on a new pair and look at a crude map of how to get to the funeral
Oh I guess on a day like today I would rather do nothing either
So they are going to bury you inside a giant guitar
As I look at you for the last time I wish you were made out of wax
The light goes out in my heart and the glass surrounding it cracks
It is so cold today the wind wouldn’t even come out
Downstairs is the solitary wood stove that would heat the entire house
When the fire goes out a white cat falls through the ice
His mewling is too faint to hear from this distance
But I go to him and save him from the ice cold stream
I bring him in and sit by the wood stove with him all night
Until the fire goes out and it is time to go out into the cold again
Eleven days ago you called me your baby out with the heat lightning
And that moment was frozen for future access
We kissed, but not deeply enough
You thought that I would get on that plane and never come back
If I open my eyes wide enough and open the iris of the eye enough
I can see you smiling in that folding chair
But the snow takes your laugh before it reaches my ears
CRIME NEVER PAYS
c r i m e n e v e r p a y s
As you held my hand the colors began to fade and the scene froze
In the scrapbook of my mind I read the writing on the bottom of the photograph
“Hospital: Easter 09”
There you are, holding my hand, but I can’t see you
In the background, there are dandelions everywhere
Remember when I found the mutated one near the power lines?
I must have been what, six or seven?
Pop said it was mutated because of the high voltage wires
There he is, in the background, sitting next to my bed, smiling
Wouldn’t he have been dead? I mean he died back in 1998
But there he is, a shaft of sunlight flaring his shock of white hair
Now the picture seems to jump ahead maybe a few hours or days
Pop is kissing me on the forehead, oh wait, I’m already dead in this one
He stands over me, black ink coming out of his eyes
And tells me that I should get a job with good benefits, like the Post Office
You mean he’s not dead?
Oh that’s right, both of us are dead
I told Pop that he had a lousy funeral
He got that twinkle in his eye like he wanted to sue somebody
And said “We’ll have to wait for Mum to die to find out how yours was.”
We embraced and the camera spun around us as we turned into sand
And blew away into a very normal Sunday morning
Now the photo skips to the funeral, and everyone is having a great time
Food, fun, and friends I tell you
I looked more alive in that coffin than I’ve felt in months
The picture skips to you sitting at a small table, writing a note
You finish the note and set it on fire and smear the ashes on your eyelids
I turn the page and there’s the note:
“A,
We were upset when you decided to do this, but we know it was all for the best. I am just so
glad that you are not in pain any more. We miss you a lot and we are talking about you all the
time. I’m sure that wherever you are you understand how much I love you, and will see you as
soon as I am finished learning this life’s lesson. Xoxo
M”
Because you were looking through the ashes, I heard a faint sound as you whispered
“Come back to me”
It reversed everything, so the knife came out of my chest clean as a whistle
I began to get less and less upset until my eyes dried and my thoughts cleared
I walked back over to you, opening the door with a bang
You were not startled at all
As I take your hand the colors begin to brighten
I close the scrapbook and put the knife back in the kitchen
I click in place so well nobody would ever know the difference
S P R I T E ' S L U M I N A R I E
S P R I T E ' S L U M I N A R I E
i believe that we were friends
...forever
and that when we meet again
...we will be friends again
and at the end i believe
we will be at the end, looking over the edge
of the end at the moment we first met
when i woke up this morning you were gone
and i was forced to dream a life i didn't want
you will understand this:
when you were young you would hide in the space under the stairs
and you would hear music
tablas pushing through their own echos
and it blooms impossibly large for a second before it is forced into the earth again
in the room there is an electric motor and it is turned on
that must be where the music is coming from
the merry-go-round inside the motor is filled with miniature people made of brass
wearing victorian clothing made also of brass
they each have an instrument, even the women
they perform in a syncronized fashion
when they are done playing, the women put down their instruments
and undress for the men
the men then put down their instruments and bow chivalrously to the naked women
i see that you have lost orientation
let me see if i can help...
what about the flurry of cherry blossoms in japan, summer of 2017?
what about the time we worked for hours to separate two useless things?
this isn't working...
i am just trying to tell you that we miss you
but you pulled a brilliant trick
you fell into a hole so deep that you landed in the sky
sasha
All Writings, Files, Videos, Musings, Bas-Reliefs, Whimsies, Images, Photographs, Engravings, Etchings, Copperplates, and Daguerréotypes: Copyright 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 Alexander Levien...
