glassworks

a collection by

jake kingsley

“SHE,”

said the gun and the rest

was mute soliloquy.

i.

june brought us flowerslike a child to a gravewhite and wilting soft.

static rabbit heartyou beat inverted, a dream

swollen sacrosanct.

carbon paper

hello, straw girl.

today, i am waitingfor the ghostsin old polaroidsthat crawlthrough my veins.

the namelessand facelessthe color ofsmoke cloudsagainst concrete.

the tungstenflashes.

the ribbonsspilling outupon the sky.

the polachromebrittle girlhidden eyes.

yourblack chemicalburns

schizophrenicupon my arms.

like steam rising in winter,we are transparent and

we are scarred.

(unnamed)

our love is the stitching in your split lip

the cleft of your cupid’s bowcracked& artificially reattached

a prosthetic beatingfor a phantom heart

abruised hymen;

our eden,once revoked.

-circa early 2013

our mingled futures:a hazy ouroboros;blood in the water.

atrophy

ken:

to know;to understandintimately,intuitively;

to splitunevenly,

special kwithoutthe crash;

to seewithclosed eyes;

warmdeath;

a madrabbitheart

beatinghollow& alone.

iclimbedeverystepof

yourspineand

wheni

reachedthetop

i jumped.

ii.

tonighti became numband immovable.

i haveno-one towrite andno-one tolove andi amfat andcontentin thisderangement.

i amorganicallystunted ;

i have beencut andpruned toa delicatelyblunt point ;

my rosesbloom inmilk-whiteanomie.

normlessness

and whenflowers startto freeze

and diein senselessbone-whitemeaninglessness

i willnod andappreciate.

bravais

the secretshe keepsbehindher lips

(the one you struggle with against her hips

the one that enumerates your seams&your sins

the one you can taste in the silence she chooses to speak);

a zenith;a dream

colorless;gauze moths-

the sutureswe areborn with.

the cigarette does not taste the sametoday.

the ash falls.the smoke blossoms.the cinders burnholy spectralhymnalsin their wall-mountedcemeteries.

but the murmur of exhalationwanes

as relic & long-forsaken prayers.

on growing up

purkinje

stars raining excursions onto the eyes, razorbladesand us, left staring upon ruined gods as fables of our ownblossoming red into the snow-covered hillockunder the safelight of an offset moongermanium flowersveins higher than the eyeour open dream fractures abandoned railways in parispetit ceinturean aside, an aneurysm in scarletaortic sibilanceghosts eat-singing whispers through cathode rootstongue stems wrapped around a duskette(an astronomy vivisected; the inner workings of falling rockets striated in the event horizon of small deaths)

and you, my funny valentine with the terraformed heartyour sternum autumnal holybe always with the moonsilentand surviving last until dawn

23 марта

ascending,the skyis a canvastorn sternum -white

our haloson high are god’sforamina:

little caissoncirrostratusschisma

& everything falling is beautiful

terminal velocity

in dreamswe are allevelyn mchale:

beautyfallingfrom on high.

iii.

jonah

we werebenzo kiddiesonce:

angelsmissingtheir wings

or,maybe

just whaleslooking fora shore

to beachuponand feelthe sunblisterour skin

intothe poetryof experience;

& twice

we becameshipwrecks

upon ourownserendipity:

you,a smilingstreakof flotsamuponthe surface

(waiting to break);

i,a scarof jetsamjust beyondthe horizon’s breakers.

& nowi’ve gotthis whale’sheart

(large, tumultuous and hollow;)

& youhave a sighof forgotten oceans& of forgotten shores.

kursk

Step one: Close the bell door.

cumulonimbus cacophoniesin situ;

the dextrocardiac hearta diving bellupon the mirroredshoreline.

Step two: The diving supervisor increasesthe bell pressure to seal the door tightly.

Flag will fly at half-mast on all Russianvessels and submarines. A moment ofsilence will be held at all naval units. Navalofficials, relatives and family members ofthe Kursk victims will lay flowers andwreaths on the water surface in theMotovsky Gulf of the Barents Sea, thepress service of the Russian DefenseMinistry said.

http://english.pravda.ru/history/12-08-2010/114581-kursk_submarine-0/

Step three: Close the door between the trunk and chamber one. 10:14

an empty hymnalan abandoned holy ground

the skeletal remains of burnt dresden

another vacant sabbathtransient orbit

pale earth, bokeh moon

the end of dejected consciousnesssilent in the ambivalent

no static, no discordthe soil cold and still

shores & currents of encroaching freedom

(we will drown in our havens grey hooded memories)

no life, no life

15:15

Step four: Slowly depressurize the trunk to one atmosphere. “It seems that there are no chances. Maybe 10 or 20 percent.”

Four divers in a compression chamber system were suddenly decompressed from 9 atm to 1 atm. One of the divers was about to close the door between the chamber system and the trunk when the accident happened. He was shot out through the door and severely mutilated. The three others died on the spot. The autopsy results are described. The most conspicuous finding was large amounts of fat in the large arteries and veins and in the cardiac chambers, as well as intravascular fat in the organs, especially the liver. This fat can hardly have been embolic, but must have “dropped out” of the blood. It is suggested that the boiling of the blood denatured the lipoprotein complexes, rendering the lipids insoluble.

http://english.pravda.ru/history/12-08-2010/114581-kursk_submarine-0/

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/3381801

Step five: Open the clamp to separate the bell from the chamber system.

in existentia,a high-pressure gradient:

love

bruised petal veins;skeletal sanctity in a caesura embrace.

detritus& sunbursts

the chaotic schema of man.

(dead, dead, we’re all pale butterflies pinned to translucent walls.)

there is a calm serenityin the dying lightof signal flares

like coronal transienceleading usto the twinribbons

of decay& salvation.

-

we filled our pocketswith the husksof falling stars

and we fellin lovewith therising tides.

-

the moonlooks on:

an apologeticapogee.

slack water spectres

heterochromatic dream:

the filmography of the soulphantasmagoric.

epileptic,we swallow wordsin spasms& drams

our breathscatch-stitchbetween the real& Reality.

(a curtain; darkness courting both cinema & the cinématique.)

watching cars slide off the side of dirt roads in old abandoned cinemas

foehn

i once told youthat there is no sadnessleft in my veinsto freeze my little heart ,

that i had detoxedfrom my phantasms& perennial hauntsall those years ago .

butlove ,

perhaps thiswas not the truth .

perhapsi carry in mea seed of melancholywaiting to decolouriseyour small petal lips

(curled & wilting gently) .

perhapsmy veins arestill screamingthrough the roots& vines tanglingyour heart socarelessly .

perhapsmy ghostshave carvedtheir namesupon your wrists

(illegible & slightly shaking) .

perhapsmy angelshave all fallen

leaving commason your pink& red dreamclouds

beforecrashing backinto me

likethe autumn moonhidingin your smiles

(promising winter’s breathlessness & spring’s piercing renewal) .

the ancientshad it right

you cansee

a future

if youlook

hard enough

at the dregs

iv.

kill yr idles

at the endof a matchstick

the world startsto fall apart.

-

she lightsa cigarette

and i thinkof her eyessealed;

she is the airportevery one leaves

lonely& lookingfor asylum

or,just escape.

(i am justa passengerbehind glass.)

her mouthmoves

and i amdeafin this turbulence.

(her lipsare redstrike anywhere

and her wordsare blinding friction.)

this chesti live insideis beating

constantlypressurised

& waitingfor a spark.

-

at the endof a matchstick

the world startsto fall apart.

selene

historically, the moon has always been our mother

a cathedral for our indifferencea mosaic for our lonelinessa mirror for our romancea sea for our broken dreams

and we have built ceilings to keep out the darkness, we have built ceilings to keep out the light

and the moon has always watched us in warm ambiance

(like a heartbeat, you are only faintly aware until you catch yourself staring wide-eyed and mystified)

and the moon will always be looking back at youand the moon will always care

an assemblage of the hopes you cast off days, years ago; now as sparrows coming home to roostyour diaspora dreams as moths knelled gently to a loving flame

and the moon will carry your scars as her own

the moon will be marred, the moon will be beautiful with your tragedy, your romanceoceans, mountains, gouged plateaus all reaching in a synchronous suffering to your own lunate legacy

and you will build your walls, you will build your ceilings off-white and you will stare until you feel a pulling

and your heart will be weighed down by its own rushing tide, in love with the sway of a sad and waiting moon

the selenography of your hearta cardiographic moonscapeweightless; indifferent

(the moon will guide us home.)

a dream

you glanced upon me with icarus eyes

and pressed chrysanths into my palms

death-flowers white and injured

whispering to me disjointed love songs

like tidal lullabies to thirsting sailors

(your breath forgotten in my wilting lungs.)

moths

there is astrange phenomenonin your kiss

that leavesme breathless -

as ifi swallowedall ofyour petals

torn& wilting

and eachonekissedmy sternumwith bruisesand poetry

temporary& ever-lasting;

and wheni dofinallytry to speak

my wordscome ephemeral& noctilucent

like moth’s wings -

too fragileto have survivedmore than a momentin the lightof a thousandcurious stars

akinesis

crescent moon

little sickle of child Death

a Smile like an angel’s busted collarbone;

these touched wings

Phantom sandsof an hourglass

the soundof life Shatteringas you awaken.

eclipsis

april is the cruelest montha cut thornwithout the rose

like dead flowers clinging to spring

we fall with the snowwe breathe in skins

we have rosebud mouthswe bleed words through our gums

we write with razorbladeson our tongues

lush petalspruned& clipped

a cloud’s wingsan angel’s hesitation

red& smiling

she feeds you ghost cake/she is the miasma jinx/ her words are red and fleshless/ her words are enzymatic/ you put your mouth between her angel legs/ you speak to god

(by jake & jun)

she is the cancer/on your lips

//torn rose hips

//a scar/a seam/a dream

//pink/bruised/& beating

she is the sweet dream you had at sixteenshe is the wet dream you had at twentyshe is the dead dream of tomorrowshe is the dying light of today

she is you inversed/ heart adorned outside the ribcage/antagonised/ the dirty petals inside, the clean ones out/the upside down butterfly/ the flower rooted from the skythe vein tied/in an ampersand

//a bouquet;/a tourniquet.

shingeki

love exists in cum shots and suicide notes. - Death comes dressed an oyama, head crowned in blue-violet nettle & bearing a crucifix porcelain-lipped stitched scarlette; a lily in repose westward toward the crow moon waning.

in effigie

Dramatis Personae:

a gun, sunseta needle(to thread, or sew)a heart, piercedan ampersand

FADE IN

INT. – DUSK

[CAMERA is framed on the horizon, an ampersand clinging us pitifully together.]

you are the other memy thrush heart circumcisedmy autumn death in absentia

a severed artery sunsetspilling colours againstthe pale flesh of night

atria coalescing, asynchronous pulses

slowing to a matching melancholy

[CUT TO frayed wings enveloping you as the dark weightlessness of sleep; an uneasy detente of peace and ambivalence.]

The day I met you is the day I learned to French inhale my regrets.

She was the girlwith the shrapnel heart.

She spoke of Shinjuku suicides and hyacinth Hiroshimas.

She told me of nursery rhymes scarred,of tone-deaf angels and beerlight meridians.

She wore safety pins on her crucifix.

[CUT TO the westering sun; we are spectres of our own lives.]

[CUT TO an abdomen filled with chroma longing for desaturated fingers to pull.]

[CUT TO St. Stephen’s Cathedral, April 12th, 1945.]

something stirs under her skin, chaotic and oblique,

a thousand roots grasping for something yet un-known.

the gentle caress of an undertow, a crocodile’s smile.

[CUT TO illustrations of where the sea has kissed the shore, taking small fragments away with its wistful breath.]

CHORUS:Within Thy wounds hide me ;

Hallelujah.

[CUT TO and Morning comes recalcitrant

without the Dawnthat is your Heart

to Guide it.]

The day I met you is the day I learned to blow smoke rings

from sadness.

FADE TO BLACK

(close your eyes and see the credits start to roll.)

we areexposures

clipped white&shot to the right,

you:the scartissueisthmus,

i:the staticdysrhythmia;

we areshadows

crushed black&left to be shot,

i:the fracturedorbitalfalling,

you:the failingaperture;

pretty girls shouldn’t love ugly boys

at the endof the day

we are luckyto have

two black eyes&a beating heart.