Going as something :: Valerie Wernet

.

the feeling, while walking in woods
that the sun on a patch of moss is cinema
me zoomed in to its jewelish hum
how even a person is a movie in love

but loving a simple thing is so close
to religion
I can feel my throat close

.

a story is both motion and permission to move. it’s whole:

Going as something single-celled and free of philosophy, I unfurl like a dumb bean sprout.

.

WORLD’S ARC TOUCH HERE

.

if time folds
but is not sheeny or mystic
but has nothing to do with a veil
then I am anchored in misstep
playing in and out and in and out and in

if I am a hinge
what opens
can hinges walk
as inverse of a dog’s dream
still but hearing endless triplets

.

are we storms / cellars / rooftops / boats / ships / aircraft carriers / paperthin trailers / solitary glitching rain drops

are we indifferent blades of water / lightning / nimble cumulus / several strata of sandbags / rubbery shoots in charred soundscapes / morels a season removed / errant cigarette butts

are we tinder

is everything accident

are we arsonists / rising seas / lambs’ blood / fault lines / the creak of levitating thermo / stats / sunburns / operable cancers / plague pustules / wharf rats / rat fleas / innocent yet psychotropic rye / gallows / pyres / members of an elite firing squad / clergy / crystals producing a faint effect of rainbow / actual human corneas

are we bioluminescent shrimp

and / or toxic algae blooms

.

have we taught each other to live good enough

?

.

anyways
we are sentenced to time
unto death
and then we die again
seastars in some inky sky
arms all mutant and tenacious

.

moons are perfect clouds
neat and opaque as fingernails
misplaced in daytime
tumescent blare of emergency lights
redding

moons rise and set like puppies
surprising themselves out of sleep again
and again like something unreachable

.

bound by filaments of violence
we are every act of god
gone grey

.

.

The hesitant tack of pine pitch will at some point dilate becoming everything.

right

?