poem 16

Kiore

like little kings, my arbitrary breaths order me imperative

each me beats alone, drawn by breath on and along,

by a single hale drawn, in and in, within this core;

emptying its hunger, life’s single sin;

burnt quiet within, letting warmth return past this skin,

just here: in, and in, and in;

where venting air kills by use,

void sucks void, consumed in arbitrary bidding . . . it is this wasted air,

rubbing me dry, blown down and deserted,

each beat denying that peace taken of death; any world’s rightful dream;

that quiet rest it sits within, in which, it itself inheres, alone and sole, but stillborn made,

by breath’s endless take and take,

like a kingdom composed of carted stone, warmly held through dismantled time,

it slips past each me that beats inside,

just here, alone in time;

in, and in again,

and in.

so breath rattled, whistles past my toothy cage,

but will un-joined, is thrown out again, but still pressing firm,

returns to be owned; a void still less than home, mere simple aid to bone,

enduring briefly with intermingled soul transformed,

life’s pulsate tissue wetly conjoined, strips breath, brought chaff and dry,

like clumps of death, broken upon dry skin,

bent to limbered breathing; unjustly receiving . . . and so exhailed again.

and so a war is raged, ukase driven,

rival marching orders given,

across steppes of endless thirsting, necessity licking the upturned hands

burnt from asking, for the slightest rain.

in and in and out again.

my drying breath alone can bring

now raised to voice, ignorant of all reason lacking;

ordered lives now begging, a chorus asking,

and indulgence producing

ukiyoe . . .

an utterly simple whisper;

moving without pleading, without listening

inexorably to celebration, culminating before considering,

releasing by wailing: joy . . .

by necessity we ululate . . .

the arbitrary breath need letting loose,

of breath punctuating living,

through living breath, we beat.