24 Nonets Written After Reading Edward Byrne’s Sonnets: Louise Labé
I have visions.
I see colours as birds do.
my sparrow gaze lifts me up.
I look. out.
I don’t need much space, but I want it.
stop the keypads.
I am interested in the labour of listening.
becoming is my extravagance.
I stroll through essays.
I harness machines.
there are no schools of containment.
my files are thick and bored from my thumbing.
my notebooks are blanks.
this is how I make my point.
assemblages that turn.
games of body that topple.
I take flight.
I study desire.
I enjoy my sex and listen to them.
I am after their language.
there is much to talk about.
my camera records their words.
their bodies saturate my lens.
their locks are in my teeth.
their voices are my philosophies.
spring and weary of walking
I resist the real
and flutter my lashes in dream
in this textured fantasy my guide is a bird exhausted by song
I sleep and wake in his claws
so clutched and with skin and rib rubbing
new spaces for my city are revealed
green boutique city
green burns in parks
green pushed into walls, roads, stones
green strangling light and machine
green grass blades curl into crevices
rain gardens spring from the rooftops
shorelines wrestle steps and oceans creep up
in smoky green air
bones slight white of tender
singing his sex out
singing his throat chuckles
seven pairs of muscles sing
syrinx speed tensions an octave lower
resonate through skin of neck and loop
hacking ten tracheal two notes sounding in keel
sixteen spreads and air parts and lifts
under lift hook
over lift proximals
shoulder girdle stretched across
jaw muscles rock hub
thrum and fly to whistle
stiffer feathers seventh feather for singed hooklets
distal end of bones snap air as claw bone presses into
shove forward barbules
caught lungs murmur
I can soak this bird’s bones for soup