as older
as older i grow, the crystalline world crystallizes, my brain harpoons through silicon and salts, membranes torn, shrunk, fissured, cleft; i burn those wounds with theory, language stitched, sutured, mouth speaking tongues, barely a rhythm left, semen slips on its own time, space imagines healing until unhealing, lips parted, cliffed memories and recitals, i learn to veer away. until memory returns, harsh, making no difference to others, alive. by then i am gone as the world's cleft teeters, sore, sworn without me, by then, there is then then, hard, and obdurate. i cannot mouth, dirt, names are that river of worlds, known, unraveled, soaked, drowned in mind only, born in mind only, death's whisper of a certain afternoon, moaned, muted, towards no one or other, i make, am, fluid, borne stones, cairn, already futured past, memorial. they have not grown, old, nor young, they have not grown
