Cratylus
You woke me up again. Cratylus.
Even with beeswax stuffed in my ear.
I could hear you howling
into the bathroom mirror. There there Cratylus.
Words can’t hurt anymore.
It would have been a beautiful night
otherwise. The sky. Our carbonated etcetera.
The sky scooped into your flashing pupils.
The monosyllabic sky. Opening its mouth
as self-incrimination.
You must’ve been frightened
when you opened the faucet and
night came pouring out. You didn’t think
it could get any weirder
than water. And now
here we are. With every faucet running. The stars getting stuck in the drain.
It’s gonna be okay. At first I thought my body was a dragon. Then
a tomb. Then a way of speaking. Now. Sitting here. Next to you.
It is only an opening. You have even begun dancing. Getting each vowel
to undulate into one vibrating river. Oh yes Cratylus
everything is on fire. You were right all along. You’re going to have to do
a lot more dancing. To see from up here. First. My body was a crisis. Then
an enigma. Then a liability. Now it is a brief encyclopedia. If you’re confused
Cratylus try saying it back to yourself in a palsied accent. So that each spasm
is a word turned inside out. So that knowledge is a dyskinetic hand
quickening against your cheek.
So that when you say
your name. Nobody will understand.
Oh Cratylus. Please.
No more crying.
No more faucets. No more bathroom
mirror. Pull each star
from the drain
and know. I can only
help by watching.
