memoir #6

by Chris Capie

I am not a relatively permanent object. I am neither natural nor artificial and my exact location is still unknown.
 
I'm lead clothed in moving parts and I beg loudly. Is that right? It's all still Greek to me in a way that I can’t explain. the hard parts that live inside my arms and legs. I'm just skin with a short chest and a bad gaze.
 
carry my skin to the moon. watch me carry my skin along the earth now. I'm no Moses but watch me drag my skin along the earth.
 
I'm beautiful.
the flower that was meant to be a memory is forced to stay awhile.
I'm wondering.
 
you fought flames mashing the depths. with respect to the depths.
heights reaching branches carrying. I scrape my natural bone patterns across your limb and you start sending unclear valentines cards my way.
 
you create a hum.
just meet me in the middle.
I'm sorry.
I'm a soaking burning mountain it's true. write notes that are land mines. I decided it’s best to destroy the humming. the vibrations ride and I'm wishing heavy now. standing on my legs her breasts. deja vu. I'm high and excited.
 
you have recognizable features seen from the air. not unlike the shape of the bottom of a body of water and I doubt I'm dreaming but I should probably check. I can't explain am I grown? I'm talking resentment now. my rested presence embraces the storm whose thunder buried my river.
 
I'm completely ready. ashtrays filled with milk. I'm tired every hour on the hour. I'm growing rings around my fingers.
 
the thunder buried my river under the sand and I saved used oil having a pen worth its weight in used oil but I misjudged its weight.
 
I've flown far and chances are that I raised a bruised flag once or twice. dragging and lazy. a scratch hawk. I'm drunk that’s a given.
 
I'm preserved in these sputter mountains. where I walk one mistake can delay the whirl of my wheels. throat rid spine of seeking.
 
sustain my father void blazing. it's deeply connected to the tides. cool outside and possibly silence moonlight golden on the inside. for the sake of whispers I'm fucked on top of the car. I stepped into rags and I changed. I jump low. I push strength. the cloud on the horizon cracked and it still stings.
 
I'll decide what's better melting in the gutter or finding a brick to throw. the signals I've drained plague the racing vacuum bastard temple of sunshine rhythm it’s tuned closer to wet glass.
 
I accept the wandering shadow bullet. I cried peril fraught I fought flying with all my might. this is a failed experiment. velvet nests in oak. it’s foreign. it draws bonds. it raises prices and it pierces my guts braised on a windowsill. snowflakes that match my cap and the december engine pressed cigarettes out on my arms.
 
I'm haunted and it drains my alms. I fall flat amidst passes at grace. I'm not jealous I swear. I attempt to steer philosophy in cosmic. I roll jetfast cigarettes. I drop my guard. remembering icicles thunderous snap stolen checking the exact freezing temperature confident in my eyes.
 
I'm drowsy. ignore the snakes weaving entirety entirely out of imagined progress. the ferns along the highways grow massively. great expectations immortality is shrill.
 
I'm spiteful. mounted on opposing planes. I'm revered. I'm starkly invincible. it blurs. I'm springlike.
 
I pile the drips of celestial strain into my quiver and send affection frail your way. the fumes jacked the whirling daylight hours. it topped out at a speed of a million miles a minute. I'm creeping deathly now and my petals beam.