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Poemish of the Wildland
Ouse
Lugano
There is something necessary in the touch of your hand, the dream of cellular dust, debris…
Elsewhere stars collapse and flare, burn into black holes
As if the speed of light might be opened like a fact, sprinkled into black coffee
He knows its electricity that animates nerves, the ventricles of the brain, muscles, limbs
He has passed an arc through the conduit of his ear, felt the jolt of fluid against the bone of his skull
He thinks of them advancing like metallic warriors charging; passing leaping arcs of current from arm to arm
Kim Lasky 