A Moving Beast Back Forward


I’ve recorded textiles
& textures the same way,
now my dresses are chimerical
& thumbing any silk, it’s blue
gingham I’m rubbing.
Maybe the pattern didn’t fit
my body & the invisible
zipper was stubborn,
but my preference
for strong-willed
beasts pay little to logic.
Tonight the wind is lifting
even the heaviest thing
a person could purge &
I’m trying to manhandle
the hours with accuracy
to your story.  Have you
always spun circles
under your sheets
in twilight?
Around mine,
I’m tied in a sailor’s
knot & pressed
to the mattress.
I once saw one trap
a man against a brick
wall & thought that
a windless afternoon
would be lovely—
though conversely
the long-term effects
of a standstill
of time would retain
one—infinite & young
like a man who doesn’t
understand he’s dying
in a white, flaked body.
I hope that tomorrow I’ll
understand how you move.