I don't hear.
Always at the start.                        
I’m hearing only detonation.
Honey crisps and a bee licks.                     
The light rolls past barrels,
it calms, it hews.

The middle finger, the ring finger,
the forefinger on the nape of the neck,
backs, mountains of thumbs on the edges of the jaw.
Wrench out the head from the neck.

I don’t hear the sentence.
I just stuff the cave.          
       
I’m dividing shadows.
I’m hardening white wax.     
           
I wait that all wood putrefies.              
It shakes. It calls me in sleep.   

It tears. I have my wires in the sun.      
Fused with blueness,
I wipe my juice from your neck.

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