The Artists

Under the skirts of the earth
Below Time
In the closeness of nerves
the rhythm can be sensed
and the rhyme is sought
through convection in the saliva
through conduction in the tissues
through radiation within desire
The rhythm becomes round
No full stops and no commas

A heap of clothes
With no end and no beginning
Fantasy is born
Objects become objects
The window turns blind with breath
The walls become spinning tops
The car shrinks
The bed floats
The brush becomes silent

The note explodes
And they create an art two arts three arts
New Natures
Snakes with roots
Anchors with arms
Ships with hips
And out of the eyes branches grow
placing and adjective on every minute on every century
Sending the rules in to exile
all forms kneel
A body two bodies three bodies
Heart beats are chased
Lips crash
Breasts crash
Genitals crash
like snails like moths
like moths as if they were looked up
Geometry shoots itself
in the mouth with tired eyes

and from the mouth a breath is born
and from the breath another breath
and from that breath a poem
and from the poem a picture
and from that picture a note
and from that note a tap tap
and from that tap tap the sexes
and from the sexes a tit
and from the tit the mouth
and from the mouth an alarm clock
awaiting
the last endorphin that remains
And then suddenly

like an involuntary eyelid
A  vertiginous violin is created
surrounding the body with music sheets
A shout two shouts three shouts
The shouts are pursued

The finger nails
The feet
The scars rise

Two one-eyed creatures
that form a body made of eyes

Two one-handed creatures
that form a body made of arms
Vibrating like strings
Now the new rhyme is here
and the soundless note
The bodies in the night
sweat the soul of History.