DRINK ME

MARY KASIMOR

BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York

Drink Me
by Mary Kasimor
Copyright © 2019

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without

the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

Interior design, cover and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-60964-330-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954753

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Kenmore, NY 14217
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installation

in a bag
of nerves marked
for the trail
of retribution,
she is wrapped
in lilacs.
she embroiders
the routine of her birth
to her death. the nuclear
power thread
of life keeps
spacing out
of our control. some
things are for nothing,
i am part
of the plan.
holding the imitation
when i thought
she was new.
i talked about
the subject of blood;
the ragged woe of
our poetry chewed up.
tight as skin, we beat
our heads
for that naked high.

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wilding

if you held shrinkage

pressed by fairy tales
star faces imploring with
tactile commotion
sharpening salt’s diversion
in mirrors with your tough hands
the evidence hiding china
& a conscious decision is not
given to birds updating
their files blooming like wild
flowers two lips of blood
wilding roots in small cups
composing tangles of pi

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The pulse is a relation

wholly is a word/you can get your mouth a/round

small/things like warts testify/to the examination
of thoughts/an abbreviation changed my mind
when pink fails its destination/it/will release yours
from a tragic/vein some are friendly and/harmless
like butter/flies the atmosphere/increases the pulse
a relation to the body more/bombs in my mouth
money is god/mitigating my fear broken/doors
my feet homeless/i want to be outside of myself
i want /to deny god for all it/thinks

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mercury’s skull

i
fastening morning stars to our shirts
in gardens a spell
breaking politics

breaking

ii
purple darkness mercury’s skull
carefully worded blue phrases
caught between counting to one
a mannequin of horizons her ribs
recline amid wine and sunlight
the leaves break open sequined
rain opens mercy and her sisters

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a broken carnival/ god is enormous

from the angular shadows

an inflatable neck--
breaking time bursts reshuffles
making up beauty
in pink oranges
male gendered words can’t forget
after inflating the facts
in the planetary
bodies descended from microbes
small and delicious
oozes the smudge
a grimace smiles
as i thought divided
strategies circular myth square--
rhythm freeways
ponder speed god is enormous
a howling skull born (i am
inflating the facts)
i found an orange
in a broken carnival
your surface was my depth
where i left you in the silence
the portrait
of blue smiles

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yellow birds

when baby wakes

to de kooning’s cheerful
tuesday
morning
to the other tricks
of sound
outside orion’s particles
the shadowy light
levitating apples
potatoes crept out
carrots screamed with
tuesday’s weight
no one is afraid
without bodies
i can’t see de kooning’s cheerful
yellow painting
sprawled in urine
in the river
where everything
flows
the immediate conception of light
children grow into beans
yellow smears
i walk
de kooning leads the way
baby fine bones give
a name to star darkness
things fall into parts
the orange found its black fish
the boys are high
we are in space sorting
out asteroids
four more months until de
kooning’s nap
water sings
a chorus of insanity
yellow birds

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algorithms in the jar

fearing loss
of emotion an interior bruised
swaggers out of touch
the brain dilates
the thought is born
scarring nightmares
trips the dream memory
knows nothing
but god sitting on boxes
the sun crosses my shoulders
pre-packaged and viewed
through windows the clock
melts into the boredom of time
slapped repetition repeating
repetition itself
re-sale born to repeat
myself in a corner
gives out monotony
patterns of
thoughts repeat themselves
on the bus a repetition
yesterday wound up between fatalities
your head bruises
trembling and unfinished
worn out
for the permission
of the body the intellectual “i”
is the mistake of a beautiful suicide
the witness admits to knowing
some things hide inside the jars

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the dumpsters

the other broken carnivals

all around are pieces of death
with god ‘s sin
we exit
time melting ambivalence
a corpse celebrated
small bodies collapsed and lost
among teeming death
the finality
never discovers the suffering
tombs hold
the sexual ending of virgins
better to drown
than touched our bodies
can’t help us
alive in one moment
of remembering,
breathing their mothers’ breath,
a fatal movement
in birth the flat blue water
gathers together
the oxygen swept up in the blood
for another innocence project
lost stars
blow up like faces isolated

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we exit our forgetting
scars scatter like sequins
for the rich
the food in their mouths
the secrets of plenty

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what i said

because there are no reasons for another cause

this city collapses outside
twisted the strange sounds of midnight
this was a period piece
of mozart’s nightmares
but his blood has little
to do with the moon
yet it dances until it drops
without ceilings
the acoustics are perfect
and i lack all regret for the echo
stolen breathing through my fears
recognition is all that i need to see
while sitting under the tree i found
dirt that was silent
as was the beginning of time
answering to the calculations of placement
in time the calendar for march was filled
with wolves and snow
and march knew nothing
about the future carefully
plotted in the past
thought planting seeds
in the snow and it was filled with the simple lives
of ants and the other lives that came
to start time
tell me what i said
you said while i poured out my blood
the yeast is necessary for levitation
bread has another sound

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in the silence

we regret these e r/rors

in the habits of continuity
when i t is never said
withheld in the silence
because
the fu t/ure’s in plastics
(and food on the table
(for our children
is made of plastic)
and everyone disa ppears
suffering is the item last
placed in the bag
or placed in the b/owl
of potatoes
and the eyes en /vision
what is impossib le
the uncomfortable surface
the ability to
collect moths
to burn the darkness
the rooms emp ty
dancing in
the minutes
the reflection walks through
air
the bodies in th /ought
in the rain we melt
away
like virtual whispers

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this ocean

these lips
sleep naked
this rain
this ocean
this wind
return to
my body
melted
wax like the fire breaks
bones hold my head up

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from pills

you either have a heart or it’s one

deep rabbit hole tunneling somewhere
leaving alice’s voices behind
but the refrigerator
is filled with cruelty to meat
milk from a pasteurized sky
while beauty disappears
butterfly’s wings are torn into pixels
i awaken knowing my finite selves close
the calculating impression in pinholes
uncomfortable in my own surface
i was seeing you out of body
the night
carrying its night vision
i make my bed from pills
the amount of anxiety seduces repetition
secrets spreading as the women make
mouths of bread
fills up the bleeding put into cups
the fruit pickers with cream and sugar
the death of food
little pellets of flesh
the truckdrivers predict
more deaths on the road

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underground

in procession we rot in our skin

if i am here incorrectly placed
why then do thoughts touch us?
the body selecting the distressed
dirt reads in a northward direction
built on chance the shelves filled
with yesterdays
a night’s surplus
of bread planted underground

we live in the cinema

and “i love you” tells you more than
that and the rain sits on the ground

and nothing is without sound

and the dead birds decay
and the rain breaks the silence
and the chair is an example
and something pulls me in
and i overflow with other dialects
why is not a question
gravity is not another dream

because the noun empties out the monsters

(why is it there?)
in this field’s template of intelligence
a flight of fish out of commas
sends you agonizing tweets

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cave time

hearts squeezing beating up black shadows in the bedroom where

your anti-pain stretches anticipation. there is another entrance to
being somewhere. in the drugstore a minute holds up making another
minute to hide in. i will live in a spell under the stairs in a jar. the
spiders crawl out of how many future generations? it is early and i rise
with blue veined milk.
the garden is pink and black, and it won’t mix well with eternity. what
you hear is one hundred years ago. why not listen to the future, where
your life is mistaken with its photoshopped faces chance tells us
about? your endless surfaces in caves are used to prop up the faceless
hinges growing from old wood. you are turning cartwheels in the
dust.

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a footnote

born groping
for the light
when rapture fled
the scene
i swallowed tongues
salted
and pressed
to earth
distracting the other race
worked with endings
a vindication
and a spike
of pain
for you
through the door
the words
blocking what you
stepped into and squandered
you dwelt in irony
a footnote
for the descendants

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