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MICHAEL RERICK |
(invisible organ)
Cast in silicate gas slick, raised, delicate—
how she looks in blue, he’s entering in
red.
Particular chambers, if chambers or surface
or spectra and observers, bend and
blur away.
Up to the lights, works color on the walls.
(the technician)
A tanker pumps into the glass trap.
Underwater
coils of wire and tubing bubble: an iron
figure
cleans with whirring brush-feet and
fizzing hose-
arms. Air behind the glass face-plate: a
mirror: no
edge where the tank ends, no indication
which
hose pushes water, which gas, where the
air goes.
The monitor hangs, swings, repeats.
9
She says: resonance forgets
what words mean,
first vibration, then a thing, then a
ghost,
morphed again,
naked, reckless with color
the way wind is reckless with air, she
says,
the way the earth pushes and folds
itself
into explosive wrinkles, volcanoes,
she says all the memory devices
are broken, broken and cannot be fixed,
she says she says she says she says she
says:
when I’m asked to be heard, am I hearing
your ear put in the ocean listening
to the floating of fish, like the moon
floats,
here,
she says,
this wet box of inflections
and reflections in imperfect material.
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