twice bitten by sbs
 

First Bite: Live long but do not cry. Old men in their extensions can ill-afford to bleed their eyes - it darkens any observance that in their youth was hooded by a wintry sun. Second Bite: Why live long? Old men cannot climb trees. They cannot take steel into their palms, nor bear thirst for too long a time (and vinegar cannot quench them). I lack a frame. My vertebrae lie collapsed and now even scarecrows cannot suppress smirks. From my window I see the slow drip of snow melt into May. This time, I say, this time I must not float (exhale, and then down, down, down). First Bite: Time presents no problem, for you may smooth your sun-stroked observances, as I have, with any shattered coat. In the shelter of my timbered skin, I will crawl to see the swans on their mirror. Engrossed in the painted stage around them, they echo in their images. Second Bite: The work of beauty is never done. It remains, though evanescent, lingering for the final touch. Here and there it approves of patterns, but modernity strikes them again and again. First Bite: But modernity foams and then recedes. Second Bite: The knife plunges, recedes, indents nevertheless. I wish to live, not bleed. First Bite: First bleed. Then we will live, smell, relish in our versing. We shall be vivid in our discipline, so that before night meets light, we may express our conclusion. In this I see our beauty. Second Bite: There are spots in your feast of beauty, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear: clouds they are, without water, carried about of winds: wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever.   from "dying by pieces and other rituals" ©bonaventure saptel and buzzard press || after jeremiah || drogo's dream || gestalt 1 || ll twice-bitten || immigrants || || epiphany ||

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