[a death watch count down]

there by the trees
     clarified remains left abandoned
in anonymous language venues
    knowing only numb to rule
able to play with knives and forks
    I am puzzled by an exit
requiring eye hand coordination
    installed on paper thin masonry
composed of random personalized greetings
    galvanized buffeting tendencies
persistent with vague shifts to
    reality purge instituted in a lie
begetting the begot
    based on remembrance
based on regret
    only to be dragged back
to mortality without place
    miles from this crude desire

More by kari edwards

from Bharat jiva [the day shifts...]

the day shifts, we talk to each other the way
we talk to each other, the luster fades, our
bodies fill with sap, there is a shift, joy
reappears before another personal narrative
burns to a heap of citations, continuing in
complicated machinery, becoming blood
knots in space, both the living and dead
surround the present has been. I open my
eyes in the full force of fear and hesitation,
frozen in passing passageways with endless
permutations, subjected to violence, stupidity,
and love.

from Bharat jiva [running sadness to the ground]

running sadness to the ground
divided
running sadness to the ground
strange though
I prefer to play with matches
rough ride midnight's helpless plea
under yesterday's lapse into
praying for an evolutionary jerk forward

oh body
washed in blood
and covered in phosophorous ash
spring me one last breath
filled with real remnants
quicksilver and lead
let me drink from your
sorry scheme of things

let me touch the spot
that bites back

[stories from across the ocean]

the broken pleasure of knives begin, weaves incompressible
intrusion on inescapable spreadsheets

I have a death watch count down, termination amongst the
swell of three-quarter fools who dance reptilian obedience

do not raise above the star’s subtle shades of lowered eyes
that shuffle into place

the flowers brown and wilt. the street turns gray. no sound is
possible in this counterfeit circus, only the faintest groan labors
out of something, like an organ swollen from so much marching.