Throned Sequel

Daniel Poppick

People who have difficulty articulating waking up are thought
To be better
Than chained winds clanking through a grove
A dove is hit / Down it goes
I think I started
Out of favor with

And fell in people by falling further out of blood
For example
When I first heard “Avril 14th” I couldn’t help but notice gentle clacks
Behind the notes
A heavy
Vocabulary, he stripped his process by overlaying nakedness
As muscle shifts under its flushed sheet

You like watching tennis for sense
Roses for thorned sequels
And doing sprints for delayed debilitation
The futures by
Our sides as we go     A person’s an event
Rare is that burden

You steal away at noon
Your Jesus floats on the reader’s opposite side
To indicate his vision’s on
Pure nudity
I agree to live in it

Torso squandered and legs blotted out
Incandescent apple’s plasticity is
The arc of its luck
Aging on point
As an arrow grinding through honey
Slaughters the rabbit king fondly     Just think / I’m walking
To build a world of reversals into that melody only to remove
Its target
I’m deaf
You must fuck my life

This speech is yours
The boy screaming a bridge over winter
He’s mine, his frayed throat possessing oars
I rowed to its largesse
He dropped the smallest coin in the river
It held more units
When it splashed concretely

When I kiss your surface it’s the
End of a core

Driving up to the end of the street and reading a stop sign I wept at its climax
The best ending in twentieth century cinema
And no one has ever accurately
Captured it on film
I remember it fondly because I was making sense
With it on
For hours

Crashing through a lilac you felt its scents on your face
Etched in the ailing layer
“Am I driving” action’s rent up
Have cried away its harm, penis sneezing juniper
Into my head     I mean dome

Better to accept that you are a doctor
Than to not
Fixed in how you love a union
Objects pivot from surface to surface
As if I owned your time
Breath trapped in ventricles, mosquitoes trickling through limbs

Everyone in this theater is a stair
Deserving of your love
You will not be ascended merely by being alive, anyone
Will tell you this
It’s nice to sit and say the things that lovers have to say
While the good flows through no garden
And the top ten records play

Under the sagging stars
A temporary intersection swells with mind
I first wrote
ғɪɴᴅ     Its figures touch

Streak slowly through the beams
Now rabbit frozen
To its fur’s core
Now emitting lead
Like culture begs for cinema by living and then just gets it bad
Then spends its rented electricity clinging to winter
A destination to which each living rivulet’s bed is glued

I have to return a call
My words wet
I left them to dry in the heated room
From the fabric’s angle
The moisture leaving it appears concave
What you are waiting for will always arrive

Power is access beyond the whirring grove
And nature its cap
Funny how I won’t know about you
And like I said this sound is yours alone
Each sentence frees a needled brook / It streams
Harmonic, fleet and strong
Up to flood Orion’s lawn, a concrete
Fable beholding pure stone