Exxon Spills

The invisible holes in the top of my head
Conduct light at invariable speeds
To the electric and fluctuating recesses of inner time that
Seem to me to be a way ahead of slowly swooning.
Whatever majesty presents itself to me in those wayward times
Before the wind kicks in and moves the mouth beyond the brain
Is not thelist of endless shortages brought from out of the mouths of
Swinging, singing dingalings like all my neighbors to the north.
I don’t know where they are other than a vague direction
And a breeze on the back of my neck and a
Pull at the top of my sunken head like straps to a fishing line that has been
Received at double the infinity required for this kind of wonder.

When I was filling up my car the other day at an Exxon station
All the memories ever had by anyone who ever lived came
Flooding back to my space, where they
Never were, and
All I could do was wash them,
Watch them,
Be them in their inner folds and works until this
Breath of me stopped expanding to all the reaches of wherever arms
Take you
Take me
Raise all the living to a wet marble of
Slab
Slab
Dehydrator
Vibrating deodorant under the swells of legs that make up our standing.
Our standing is time, and this kind of movement sweets us into walls and
Breaks our backs open to the white line of all the color you can see
Before vision has occurred.

Exxon spills
Like my eyes from behind closed glasses.
Where were they when the weather needed reheating so my people could breathe,
Could live,
Could fly out beyond the receding pastures in front of any house across the street from
Time
Time
Wax
Shells
Beaten air
Into the space
Space
Tell
Me
What
To
Watch
And
I
Will