Morgan Lucas Schuldt

 

 

Memento Mori

 

O             bright confines                   

                                Ronald Johnson

  

Like the heard words in the sounds—

every place we are

                                   is one we’ll aren’t.

Elaboratably.

 

So, over-and-over.     So arterialy.

 

     (Re-occasion’s slow abrade.)

 

As in—these rawing err-ways breach bloud mash-barrel reds.

 

Trace.     Afrer-scapes.

 

As in—this dimming makes meaning make

more sense     on the inhale.

 

Like dusk in the olde adjectives,

 

these plush, rushed _-teriors

(courses sorted,

                          under-messed).  Words

 

unchanging long and long

 

—lust’s mince gears.

 

                (Stripped.)

 

Nightish musclings—

                                   wine-deep.

              But speeded.

 

Hands skim-wilde

on the gathering side

 

as mingle     as outdulge

 

where lies kindly     distract

from the sick-spoon

 

from the lunks’ jungs

                                         & our skin (spikeless

twinlipspink)––

 

                                  their throughency                                       

 

cramming bare whereabouts

(the oceanwork dark)

 

w/ howabouts    

                                as if diminish

 

meant

                (should  mean)

 

when the white halts loft

                                                  to steeps

                                                                     to break

 

(as vanish, unespecially)

the jetties’ black angles into sand.

 

 

 

 

                                for Katherine Larson