Sung Backwards, that trumpet
from Fixture/zikherkeyt
that trumpet is not new, never was, predates, the Shofar print is too small, the instructions are elsewhere, he’s there too, faceless mindless brainless a brainstem and broomstick-stiff spine wrapped in meat, meaning flesh, meaning?
that trumpet has not arrived yet
sort of having to say you got what you paid for? A lot of dick-waving and he can pick you up and carry you, and he’s a lost text
you have artifacts
you’re there too
doubt class every Tuesday fine-tuning before and after
fine-tuning the air, the prime
numbers don’t matter, relationships between them flex and pulse, ribs and rib-like hair and wire and nest made of some such in April in May not in August a calendar is a Calendar is a thin blue wedge politely sloping down
thin red thread between you and the unknown, your questions, a plurality, your alternate endings
never delivered, never left breathing room, where else, where Adonai is an infinite number of infinitely tall interlinked open-frame towers, silver and crimson
where blood is, and aliyah, and then and now what, and?
against a tide of and let’s say let’s say it in plain speech and the small knots of that never arrive, the cord or sash, if there is one, never untied but rough cut
and there is one
there is rough cut and oceania and Shabbat, there is a text alive and everything in shadow, letters reliable, letters aleph-bet, letters never sent
an old song, mostly hollering
blessing and fixation ahead of a wreck, ale ale gut zayn peck,
or you have spared both carnal and carnival
fix Nick’s head
or label it blessing and drive home alone
addressed directly mishegas he owns buildings you own maybe two possibilities, three, rub them together for heat, hope you know the name of whatever blooms
the accidental
the syncopated minor third, there isn’t paper for this yet
you don’t mind a little pushing and shoving, maybe internal, maybe on Main Street, maybe in the guest bedroom “I can’t believe you’ve never done this” the acts carnal and carnival, forget the Levites save for the golden rule, Levi never even received a scrap of promised land, his tribe all dispersed priests of sacrifice, otherwise sex is
punch the clock, sit still and don’t stare,
invitations to whose future, only wander: this is your song
a tent built in high desert, a sandstorm introduction to how you don’t belong, you do, you won’t stay long, again, interface and minor thirds and wandering forty days you realize
there’s still a you, somewhere in the cement
and he’s on his own
Sung Backwards is one section of a book-length sequence of poems and essays that explore languages old and new, from autistic communication (familiar) to Yiddish.