the true repertory of the wrack and redemption of sir olena kalytiak davis

remember not, spied no

light, upon the molehill je m'appelled

detroit. someone drove me off a cliff,

in skiff with wheels and lungs, word was world laid

upon whorled, ear heard, but h(ear)t couldn't

tell, didn't know above

from, let alone, below.

bellowed long and low. already it wounded

and it pinked, but i dare not call it

SOUL, i dare not call it "i."

was immunized, was shot,

against the sicknesses of the heart and lot,

of the sordid sort (of the dawn

and of the dusk, of the wake and of the boat), but didn't

comport, stung but didn't stick, i,

poor "i," got sick.

was am was small and despised

tall in my anger in my thrust and stall

and all and always was pretty was much

a wreck from the neck

down hung low stayed staid but left, left, got right

out of town

on the transport called love

(but it was nothing of the sort)

(it was neither train nor port).

the first was a boy with a (volley) ball

he wrote me a (love) letter or two

i kissed him in a (ski) jacket

but he didn't recognize me in June.

then richboy, punkrocker, prufrock, short

order(andunder)cook(ed), thief! a drummer all

summer, then

an old(er) man-

imal that liked to eat

his young

then you (but who are is you am i talking to?)

no, i know:

was my was first was real was love

hard on a park bench and long and low

(and long)

(and hard)

but somehow moved to what was it (?) what was

it (allowed) (to be) looked out upon:

o heavenly earthly pulchritude!

o man,

and, fuck, o wife.

a solitary a field

east-west of here, and fickle,

only when wet

with beginning rain, or lit

with early evening snow.

then a different meadow opened

and i, poor i, bent over, got on knees, cupped hands, drank

drank from the stream

let out the scream (the scream the scream)

(o love i am so different)

went from mr. longlove (you were my patient log man)

to master wronglove (and back) and back (and back)

but couldn't get the knack couldn't get

in groove in grove in glove in tongue in hat

couldn't tell which from what

who day night from rat

heart spoke heart broke

but what the fuck is that?????

heart has only silly things to do to say.

the heart is an ear.

a wig. and, yes, yes, a fist, the heart is

no bigger than that, than this.

started shoveling shoved (snow) shoed hard,

showed you this, was feigned was am (not?), i think, remiss, remiss,

got nowhere, i.e.

here

this

head hurt

heart hurt

skirt didn't fit,

asked to be quickened

(to say to the passing stay)

but was misunderstood

by some god (or his underling)

(skort didn't fort a thing)

birthed two babes on top of it

(o i labored in the stubble field . . .)

(each sex a flower stranger than the last . . .)

((always) already told you that) (you this)

was unglued was undone

a small and heavy flower

all head became all stem

lost went at a head

was once became stronger

than the rest (but you but i but you was were are am not impressed)

impressed?

press here, press this,

(now, now!)

now (as in so much to be done 'tween now, 'twixt now

and six and six and six)

now

it is

now.

how?

work done love here

and gone and look at me:

all flesh and fold: all shelter

from the fucking storm (the snow falls, love)

(love, but it doesn't stick)

this was this not this foretold

(they heal me with their little hands)

and joy is what i like, that,

and love, (and love.)

forgoodisthelifeendingfitandfaithfully

and grief absent joy is present

for that time

but look, look, look

here here now now

at me at me, at this:

i said look at me.

all right, all ready, (alright, already!)

look:

nothing left

to the imagination.