From LANUGO
—feeding a pointillist exercise—
At first light the body spills over its banks,
multivalent rays of protein pelting the skin
inversely bud & shed food products,
products of the body floating before sealed
eyelids then inhaled as the stomach and
lungs contract in tandem
—afterbirth—
woke up disoriented, a choked trickle of water leeching
color from the soil, the cave studded with teeth, not mouth, the cave
of his imagined sister, her firelight projecting a small
beast of shadow , after, he dreams outside her body
wading into deep stretches of alien sound
—systematic forgetting—
the wave of flame swelled, pushing against his ribs, bones
stripped to a gun metal, carriage routed by heat & in-
distinguishable vocals, curved air lifting distinct away
in exhaust and weak glow her voice ‘ a body is infinitely
divisible’ , rock melts, a pebble cracking after it cools, ‘ it speaks the
voiceless book’ in the street, the womb long-barren, he sees
something flutter, twisting solid through
a granular curtain
———————————————-
Jamie Townsend has poems and essays published or forthcoming in Bombay Gin, The Cultural Society, Gam, Fact-Simile, Wheelhouse, Volt, Elective Affinities, Flying Guillotine’s “Apocalypse Anthology” & Jacket/Jacket2. With Nicholas A. DeBoer, he edits con/crescent press, a poetry chapbook publisher & print magazine focused on discursive essay / creative non-fiction. He lives in E. Kensington, Philadelphia.