Beyond the Bother of Sunlight

Lewis LaCook and Sheila E. Murphy

BlazeVOX [books]
Buffalo, New York

Beyond the Bother of Sunlight by Lewis LaCook and Sheila E. Murphy Copyright 2011 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Book design by Geoffrey Gatza Cover art by Sheila E. Murphy First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-015-6 Library of Congress Control Number 2010906706 BlazeVOX [books] 76 Inwood Place Buffalo, NY 14209 Editor@blazevox.org

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For as long as I can paint, I hold myself Responsible as a canary And I gesture to the wall and sleet and penitence To gather atmospheric butterflies and learn Their way of cherishing I could fold you in my wings, jewel you with dust Sky's powdered this morning just enough To let the slit in case of an emergency To turn to leathery egg flesh We are most peaceful when we're stored At night, the stats evaporate, the stare Is left behind, the condensation along silver chrome Leaves to the imagination replicas of jeweled and easy Wingspan As responsive as a messianic egg Contours of speech relax after They clarify I remember dreams better than daylight Words dream code to say emergencies all fall To willows None of the evidence will play. Immodest blades turn waxen, so we look at them Consider how they look beyond their function A fraction of our happiness is time Formulating tiny chapters That make photographs as still as we can take them Resurrecting or resuscitating light Selves become more beautiful than offices When thought resides within the walls Some find remarkably less beautiful Than adobe, brick, or comfortable wood homes Here in the large city, there is a sprawl of them inducing Surface of another pyramid

The mind floats far away from what I do While staying focused on that shimmer, If it's there and I've not simply dreamed it

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Economy is brackish, spatial, furnaced, winded, Moody flue-gauged winter widens indoor fun Blooming personae, self ganesh yields Quilled tapas mildly sunny in the dross of singsong Menaced moon harvest reduced by tactile penitence Eclipsing stirs until a windy day of curling moans Browbeaten under wafer salt and the remains Poured into stray capped funnel punishes what is In part love's dissipation silicone Play's rusting hamstrings tense as banishment guitars Evidence of invincible tryst handling Lakes until the finish threatens to be work As if i could cough up a sallow corner In which to kiss the linger of you tracing Pregnant in the air bedevilled Dervish syrup sung lower than asking: Did you see the really tan stick waitress sandwich Between one of us and sutured Fondness into crepe hand it over to Rollers teasing the rumble floor with balcony Pressed twice thriving promontory halved Waives dross to go for Hearing tincture's mockingbird go pathy white in tone Toward solar chime, she serves and we accept From this lift bromide altruistic venture Capital idea, throngs waitlisted come to pass The service is itinerant, a maze of blue wing Crosses background depth, my speech Is woven to the crimeless pace of dramaturge Until you know far in advance the spirit Craves the spirit's ably twanging angst

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And pearls along the human roads Crafted by hand and mused upon by heart Thus she finds herself lonely in a gramophone laundrette Smelling only slightly burning that occurs indoors When two people "meet," they "fall in love," chemicals Appropriate to the occasion get sardonically spilled And skin becomes another hello wave of weathery bending Around to find a way in webs of winks and sizzles To correlate motor skills with ideal mesmeric conditions This is how i happened upon her bathing in her ferment Serving country-fried steak in an interstate cracker barrel Shotgun weeding, we accept tone in white path Crosses woven you the pearls, seeming to blend, to inculcate Deep in the background where you were humming Up the hill where professors eschew legume gesundheit In favor of headier tinctures, lucid and amorous Above a shadow's fog, crippled like enamels You're accustomed to laughing at in your sleep Weeds themselves bless background sleep They twill biography to pearl tote hummed in fog Enamel as a laundry front of whirring placed In lucidity becoming amorous uphill shadows Needing motor skills to meet the weather Of a foghorn on occasion skilling Soporific slowdown of the menses and the cross Skin's own duplicity with laughter burning beauty Where crumbs happen to fall in your vulnerable glass On opiate burgeoning, diaphanous penny of flesh testing Limns aghast the bus-choked thoroughfare I saw in my mind spatter tangles of tonal gradations The shelving in cells that segment with repercussions Obsessing, and i wasn't going to say anything To anyone about it, but my dreams went teasy With myself, they prodded my anomie Out of naivete, eerie nativity In which every child i pass on the street Becomes another indication of indifference Complementary random seeming incantations that initiate Militant with gentle becoming

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How she bleeds impulsively In the dry burn of too early Sunday Pressed between voices writing on gods Ungraspable the more they sing Small leather copies that splay open Sweet sweet sweet Plum burns of satchel, many dapplings Lord it over impulse gentleness that races absolutely nowhere Becoming simply limns and "blest to God a two-egg cake" Refills our poverty in lore and legion sacrifice to mean something Beyond morning and the water and the feast of sun Slowdowns all molt so we can censure the immediate Reply response rejoinder when and if and where . . . Tangles are their own percussion Until the fire needs to be gone and ritual comes back As smoothly as new fire whose teasy little incantations Bask and breathe and Zen themselves into unconscious play The cactus queen so photogenic engenders swollen stem, The morning and the water grooves pretend night Was sufficient, as poverty copies keys into another language Furrier than the native tongue, where I spin off drunken Eyesores where the barking dogs that break into An apartment behind the foaming sun In the shrinking space of my autonomy In the "hard drive of my heart" She salves the door with words While I inflect myself on the window under Our phenomenology Built purposely out of time Signifying tact, all that you know about the weather The dark plains on which the stars Camp under your shoulder blade After furious hunting through the grates Still shimmers, glancing off their Slowly smiling breaking points Like stalling hypotheses to yield notice

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Change cheats on temperature, temperament, Perhaps, but who absorbs what needs no rehearsal The seams, tact, phenomena, riddled meltdown Salvages the slavery of affection And blade reciprocates the flesh, With untimely shimmerance where matte finish ought to be

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Pacing bequeaths to water What water and the sky do best: Replenish. Smile extinguishes all traces of significance. We motor our way home, inventing machines to carry or to carry us. Punctuation Creeps into our codes, lacing gaps Into our bodies, bracing pauses Through which topographies of lingo Merge, filling the map That way I've got everything Flattened and before me, ready to be folded Along all the wrong spines Awaiting translation in the temporal plain. But there's nothing so-so about you. Only every once in a while in the crackling That swept over my brain text like viral winds Swallowing scorched information affords Fabulous blossoms, So beautiful, so suspiciously pure, you Doubt your touch of it. Purity eventually is traced To touch. Suspicion twines around Topographies that embrace The merging of sweet spines. A singular fulfillment rescinds the stencil That reduces bliss to genuflection. Are we there yet? A physicality endears itself to lapse of grace Whose map occurs to us. In time, A blossom purrs with listening. We hear in our flesh the tension of it, The awful urging pulsing breaks.

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It was eventually found that the paint Would pane around the letters in ghost Plains, and this complicated into A false sense of depth. When walking on The surface her feet sometimes Slipped through It was all she could do to keep herself Balanced, his Inattention was her fated goal. It had been a long time since he looked you in the eye. We're a conquered people, servants In our own land. Tranquilizers, accidents It is forbidden for anyone to open that book Until physicality becomes religious combustion I see it is hopeless to try to reason with you Just in case the flowers didn't work He burrowed into the fields of narrativity Slipping through the confluence of probable branches Until he walked on translucent panes, interlocking, Layered. Tranquilizers conquer you. Lovely tranquilizers, Accidents. It is forbidden for anyone to open that book. Tranquil is a word. Speech. Ventilation coughs up Translucence and transmission. Changes lock open The book of wheels, the book of patter, the book Of a religion. Killing beams no episode at all. All out of kilter then, the plot's made simple, And advisement borrows shrapnel of nativity. Bloom time once crescent shaped is domed. Its wheatened blue comes close to venture Spawn.

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Our land is white awaiting -isms Verging on the foreign act of conquering, Supposed to bring with it a rise out of The dearth and imagery, awaiting Ginger colored confluence that makes for tension In the face of inattention. Leather isn't like that. Functional and yelping what has been induced, say, Over water. Cerebellum water. Yankee water. Forward motion of the frigid pawns still scraping Their variety of accidents. The water cupped In the palm of the moon, bleeding through the nails. A word is tranquil at the crack of the horizon Birthing fluid children with fondness everything Goes wavy with codeine These accidents of startled symmetry She said it takes a child to pretty blood Sex turned mantra that absolved us of equations We shake earnest moisture off In flailing beads that lick the trees, absolving Contours in cerebral shadows. I wanted To climb Up traces Of her words To where they suffer from Their sun shears spiels of coffee From her body like a baby laughs In a globe containment necessary To pretty blood with innocence. Slum jewel Slim messages imbue with fleshy wires

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Petals harden into years, points on the map that Cannot be lifted from paper, Will be an interesting summer because this drawing Together dawning

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Your face reassembles itself after Troubled twines, Face like water that rejoins a distant smile of shore. We hinge bad childhoods Marijuana, a woman Who exhausts with abscessed bliss Bloom time. Come shed mettle Dance with me in a horizontal lake, Snug implosion Lost head in a bottled ether Towns horizon blesses stride until it falls Into the weathered arms of peace Move to strike Indifference to a fostered gender Of cerebellum Now our days drown surplus light The flesh of wire lifts suffering to smoothness Unlatching what we're taught to match. A salted reciprocity to griefs desire Whose children long for trees. The mood Of white leaves bloom to matins Where vespers were. Either a town or fog for the opposing Triumph leaves the building with a chip Positioned on a random shoulder Dark approximates pseudonymous shores. The finger traces what will be Recordable, reordered, resolute With silhouettes as wings that dry Before a farthing leaves the shelter of a sketch.

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A crow picking garbage when I returned home Unempty nocturnal streets Sang to my nerves of my own professed innocence. The stars have long ago receded. Tar and randomness have bled the sacristy of genuine inflection. Dark burns north. Trace touches thinking's random innocence. That purring sound repeals a call for help, A butterfly gone missing, stencils unaffordable When I came home, I saw a crow within this painting I sized the painting in the shape of nocturne. What receded was eventually the sacristy Of inflection. Why don't we just lie here And seek the stars extinguished by our ignorance? Luxury is reversal of the unexamined life's worth. Spine recuperates from city life The only elbow room I know has paint around it I mention chastity because it's rumored that A compass might make norms inherent. Walk with me. Stir juices, rearrange the pot where Personalities have yet to give up attitudes, This morning, a bedraggled one togs into the office Looking for a pair of arms to say "We know you." What she gets is coffee, a reluctant audience. Her tired shuffle matches the relaxed cloth That hangs from her exhausted arms. In the end sugar curves insolvent honesty around Twined ligaments the body you belong to.

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Warmed intoxicant, imbibing in vibrations cleansed of drugs and nations. Politically correct mistakes suffer lack of respect Obsessing over final column that lines streets Syntax, the intervention of collective bargaining, Makes grammar multinational

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