John Schertzer, p.2


The regulation fetal
retraces all external receptivity—

expectation by the mouth-full
where eleven separate
dimensions, all in an L-shape

remind us of our insularity
and void of expression (two keys
for the motorcade—what was it

that made it move before the movie set began rolling?)

I have no diagram
to explain the action of protean mass
but her kiss

left shapely on my back, hid behind the glass
over by the reel-to-reel
to get a print on lavender with the proximity

of players before the recital. We sat down
and doubted our arrival. In that dwelling

several voices bequeathed all they had to us
and our unruly damnation—dogs and bugs everywhere
made it unsafe to pose

any ordinary question. We had to buy thumb
screws and damaged glassware
to protect ourselves once the set was over.

The air was full of steam, cement
and the lattice-work
that held their undergarments in tow

while rumors settled and disintegrated
on the ocean floor. How was it we had no notion.
We were born awake

started quick by remaining ghosts layering musical tableau

before the glass caved in
got locked in the open around
the perimeter of the station. All this talk

of war and intrigue was only here to remind you
of your natal urge
which was to flood your fingers with red crayons

along the edge of some elevated
of spring before cramping its desire.