The More I Look the More You Become

By RE Katz

I think there were a lot of bright spots in that pure punishing meadow:  handholding, making our bouquet of fists, Yam in Yam under parliaments of dead songbirds. Scientists agree when removing their bird brains, they sing like it's Christmas at the Cloud Farm. No one has been to the Basilica since the fire. No one has been to the Rubric, no foothold in that beauty mark. The pallor of Infinity is sickening. Every thing comes back together, you know. Me for instance. Me for the win, for the record the fastest swimmer to go on dog-paddling without ever tasting the Pacific Ocean. Scientists agree we were born swaddled by glowworms inside some volcanic ring. When they say Now What it looks like morning. Science I will make a hat out of my longing for you. I will wear it in the desert all those lemon-faced days. I have crashed here like a wild speck and started building. My heart is condos for you. My vowels rip out soft like weather. Am I a wrong thing when I want you waiting for me on a bed of lettuce? Something amazing to happen. A meteor in my plate. So what if you have been living inside your Moss too long. Here you might find me: a lost thing starfish-curled into an ordinary pink ball. Your wingtips are sanded down like saltlicks. You are not sipping a glass of water but what is photogenic about water. Well I say god is my high horse and we sidewalk each other. And Generosity like pinkeye is an art. It is important to feel the Ants and know they are building your body. If I am saying I miss you, it is like this: I move in the shape of trying not to see the same dead Bird for the third time today. The Bird is in front of your house.

This poem first appeared in Any Berry You Like, iO Books.