zoe baber

"THE EMPTY-TONGUED WORDSMITH"

i saw myself in a dream, and i beat the thing senseless. i am used to this, now: pulling

the self out of the self.

there was something limp about her even in waking. there is a place to leave that,

somewhere, or so you once told me.

yes: dispose of it all. take the dream out of the man, or maybe the man out of the dream.

i do both. i can't remember. you've told me too many things to count.

down the drain of the dream: your words. my body. there is something for everything

somewhere.

i fall, and i watch myself fall. turn around like a fish in nothingness night, watch myself

stand above myself.

gravity does not pick favorites. not if it's me.

your eyes, have they always been this blue? the dream falls out of the man.

everything falls out of the man.

secrets spill. this is the poet's nature of things. salt water spills. the salt makes things

more lively. the salt will taste of blood. the man is familiar with it. the fish will run. yes:

lively.

he was a gunman, before he was nothing. he took the man out of the man.

he fed the earth.

the earth screamed: not like this.

secrets, salt water, dreams. and blood. lists, lists, lists. sounding something like you. a

mockery. take what you need and go home. this is the order of things. dreams do not fall

in order. turn your world upside down for a script and find nothing.

there are no lyrics here. there are no lines.

i watch gravity take me somewhere. maybe home, if i am lucky. i'm usually not.