notes toward the ablation of the soul

The soul should not be multiplied needlessly, i.e.: the dull razor

of your soul. Your straight-back

soul, your slo- pitched

soul, your soul that throws out

largesses on all sides without

counting: Full Beautiful! Full Soon!

Your soul that sounds like a string

quartet: but is really just a violin

and a viola. Your diatonic

soul. Your diacritic soul, your soul that hates

just-about-fucking-everything: id est: the one

with an eye for imperfection, the lungs

of a butterfly. The perfected soul.

The perfect animal that is your soul: wet,

gutted. The guttered soul, caught

out in the rain, your soul in gold lame, your soul,

the crooner. Your fucked-up singing

soul. Your lame soul. Your flat soul.

The soul that is your body.

That soul.

Her bare shoulders.

The hardening off of the soul. The soul

stiff. The soul with a hard-on. The husbandry

of the soul. Your vegetable soul: eyed-green

and black. Fructified. Addicted

to borage and hell-bore. Your paper soul: the wasps'

nest. Your swarming soul: the invisible bees circling

the rusted mail-box that is your soul and your soul inside it:

mailed and nailed. (Your soul with a past of plank

and slowness.) The cross-eyed soul, the looking glass

of the soul: your odonate soul, its small

sharp teeth. The soul that counts

like a mother. The unmoved

soul and the accompanying soul;

the soul that walks with you

but on the other side of the street. The soul alone

and palely loitering.

The three totalities of the soul. The sidereal soul.

The crystal soul. The empyrean.

Your innermost soul, your inland

soul, your sea-sick soul. Her cordage.

The restive soul, the ignore-all-the-rest soul.

The soul wrapped in eiderdown.

The seleniferous soul, neither new nor full.

The soul, uncertain. The soul, unwell.

Your soul the sick taper. The tomato

worm. The pleached soul. The bleached soul.

The bleating soul. The bloated soul.

The soul, pleading: there's-no-such-thing-as-a-soul, soul.

The smoking soul. Through her flared nostrils . . .

The snared soul. The bridled soul. The soul's barouche, her pied

horses. The piebald soul. The dappled

soul. The soul that selves. The starfish.

The soul that faiths. Yet remains

faithless. The soul that prefers

to decline. Dirndled and kirtled, the queen's

soul: the longspun, the finespun,

the dizzy soul, spun

finer and finer still. The still-

born soul. The soul born snapping her fingers (Šalamun's soul).

The plagiarized soul. The 10th plague, the plague

of the flying souls. The dying soul. The soul standing still.

The standstill of the soul.

The sandfill of the soul. The soul no one asks about.

The soul that recognizes itself

by its coat. Your soul: the train-wreck,

the soup-con, the tea-cup. That scant and edged.

Your soul, you dare call

that splendid? S: You can stay or go . . .

The sunspots on your soul.

The bare spots of the soul. The stretch and track-marks.

The soul shooting up. The soul shot. The old soul sold

out, the odd soul out, out

having swum beyond its ken,

the damned soul out

finally, out

out out

of your

system.