A Body Shaped like Gold (Excerpt)

Once I am gold, and a touchscreen has been installed
Into my forehead where names may be scrawled.
Display me against a dirty, upheld mattress.

While the ensis did not quite find
Its place, it ended not quite abstracted,
Not quite the unwanted landscape.

Growing out through the red-brick walls, the flowers we tore
The petals from, children desperate for soft
Flesh hiding flesh. What is called the landscape when it is overcome
With narcissism. A wheelbarrow overturned, water seeps
Deep into the soil.
When my body was taken from me. When I gave
You my body, I. The body virtual
Called like napalm against the midnight: not yet there.
Among the things it is important to have left undone:
Drone of light as they jitter through the halls.
We have left our bodies at the door and slipped
Into the spaces where nothing, nothing, is ever found.

Growing out through the red-brick walls, the flowers we tore
The gilding from, children desperate for soft, unyellowed
Flesh hiding. Flesh. I gold. I light. I light gold. I. Lightening.
The sky. Here we are. The last stop, which is, anyways, what we
Have always wanted. The clock in the station unwound
For years, you whisper that space and time have become equally
Obsolete. You love the shells I toss against the tile.
I am asked whether this is what was wanted, this?,
And it is made true before I answer. I imagine the woods stretching
Far from the cabin on fire, but they are not on fire. And nothing
Has ever happened. This is what I wanted.

Author's Note: This is from a heavily WIP bit of digital poetry. It lives on this page.

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