TAXON
the floating eye
ye hic
Inflect and there are splinters in the heart.
I don't understand a word - don't get it.
Can I be some of those things I never was?
I'm living with someone again. Who
I have the gestures of some of the dead,
the pallid dove
the bastard of bread.
Each taxon breathes on you yo haec
ya hoc
One doesn't have a heart, is dead
The eye floats mean-looking ... but
I would like to point out
that no eye is smarter than me.
(Can either be your Secret I D or mine, in the grammar of this
poem.) All yr taxons intermingle.
Je, Je vous kill, being a virus.
I'm sick of being a pallid dove; the phainopepla loves only you but
species cannot intermingle, for example
the dead and the living
part of two different taxonomies
Don't make me laugh.
has a lot of dirty laundry
and is dead. He's gendered, because we are living in the past -
which is a tense.
Can I be different now? Your syntaxonomy
stretched to limit - It's not a thing. Not like the bastard of bread.
I am poking in your Secret I D to tell you,
we don't have to be any way we were.
We owe nothing to the peace effort, or a cause,
clipping our wings. Inside each one I will touch and say
we owe nothing to the others. We are not a species
we are not endebted eaters.
I'm gonna sit here breathing on your soul.
Can't think of anything else to do.
Alice Notley - a biographical note - here
