R^ay H^su

District 2

The cafeterias. The power

of twentieth-century lights.

The children eventually leave

well enough alone. In the soil

their descendants wait.








dinosaurs. Unlike standard blue skies night

remains alarming. A clue from far away. An

arc embracing our thin rectangles. In our Origins

beginning we belonged

then we wind down. We stay underground

dustcaked. We take our wallet out. Wait at a

corner. Wager the roads are bad. Turn us

down. Make good livings. No more

confusion. We eat what we please. Wheat. Modernity

Please. We loosen our grip. Some clear.

Some twitch. The worse off lack. The

greatest hang back and disinfect. We fall

asleep under heavy cloth. The shore is on

our way, our mind edge. The water cools

blood. The skin thickens. Our bodies darken

as night lengthens. We are

(Offstage)

I saw what must have been

a dozen eyes, each surrounded

by its own mouth,

not yet formed but already

clamoring. A bloody loyalty

to something

split in two,

a veining fork,

hungry all the way up

past the neck

to the interior. Someone

is coming back, it says.

Bird’s Eye

Some years pass,

a quiet extended

where notes should be.

Whomever it brings you to,

it will leave you there.

Is it to alleviate the split

trunk that governs you?

It stands so still you can measure

your lengths and borders.

[step back to issue 3]