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.