Douglas Piccinnini

if blood fed earth                                           
the flavor of years

fed the sound of your name
attributed to another

the shifting pleasure, my precariat
spontaneous assumption

as in heaven-perfect data
as in hello touch

to blush up night — as I, less,
relax in attentive blindness

swollen in noise
with a strategic “grief”

for the air present shifts
joins a call — salient

for “sorrow” mimes “sadness”
in brushstrokes equal

the fabric darned “pain”
to motivate forfeit days

as my place mouths a pattern
alike — an arable network

interprets quick flowering, the inheritance
the mirror set, the bacterial kind

so to hold coin and play
until extinction — as if digesting


the rhythm of pleasure
fit alone, how to unfold

one day in expression
as the model mutates, builds

as the song instinctively breaks —
the heartclap chimes

the unmanageable pitch
pith, blotted tone —

the unsayable structure
software of my decline

rushed, upstep of days —
days lard uncertainty

and intercept style that way
surfeit upset ferment of force —

eyes, lips, a slack cock
scrubbed from contact

in yonder attachment
for the low tuba of

advanced nostalgia meets the story
bred by “design”—

mapped in untamable days
as my real size slowly renders

the drama of annihilation
inches mouthward as I

read your eyes and again try
(the homesick ribbons throb)         


among friends as familiar as sky
eats through a yearbook of shorebreak

contortions come, post-wreck
emote as you appear — as you disappear

and the rising response rate
hugged by degrees, replicates

changes the feed, thanks the curtaining now
and greets the curtaining then

in code, in strident forms
the poplar branches

bursting into flames
I said, “I’m a regular”

telegraphing fear
the violet sprouts first sprung

green with impersonal bloodshed
greener as the public bump grew

the inflow as such to milk destiny
might you badmouth touch

if the stencil of debris could be
more like the debris itself

as I couldn’t dismember the format—
the format of your face, the sneer of April

as April meant the large shadow
of a cracked windscreen on you

to sear in history what happens
the last time you / the first time you


click in thought
break into service, saying

I want to live but
I don’t want to live

in weaponry, the cold labor
light snow of conversion

sting of distinction
what we is joining

cast of sun shaping
the shape of habits of habitats

the critique of love, slapped
that it is with you still, stopped

in sites of devotion
the domains of obsolescence

in lessons of calm
the prosperity sickness, the world forest

of my (m)other tongue
word for another world

to collaborate with distance
groom this machine hair

glean new flesh from the starter —
ore from the mines

with this medium feeling “I’m in
the wrong time”— this drip

soaked through the rug
and you, in conclusion, roses


the task of loss, the feeling
set in the ground, my immunity

the sentiment you are
wash away days

the money in you — to be seen
avidity and constraint, even you

impressed, touched, re-
touched — irretrievable — you

kiss off this wish —
to “give up wanting

what other people have
that way you are safe — ”