Of this Momentum Song (one through three)

Of this Momentum Song (one)                                                               
                        —to why beginning brought us

 

“Breathe, first”, we said, “the
   dead would want us to”.  Dead,
 not discarded, scent
   stands in for evaporated
                       bodies,
their bending bends to acclimation
   of dancing silent absence.  Remember,
 we must know of absence
                         in
                                      the space of language, tongue
                                    as rope, rope as what builds
                                        but never frays, the language
                                                             breathes
                                  into us, a freedom unlatches,
                                   we watch what comes through. 
                                     Breathing then is theme: exhaled
                                 patterns the dead prayed before us… we
                                                                  find
how hands held us: hidden bones,
 mouth and age of feet, scaly
   stones decorating this path—
                           bridge
 to here and elsewhere, bridge for
    there and the unsolicited nowhere.  We
 travel to understand: sound as trumpet,
  feet as drum, this duality of bodied
                               talk
                                       leads and misleads, the chaos is
                                        voicing a paragraph of interrogat-
                                         ing self-expressing music.  We
                                                                     continue,
   contemplate themes and voodoos,
 fountains’ waters evaporating
    cold as clarity’s winter on our skin,
                          vocal
 as noon calling toward the
   listeners        oscillating warmth
    and what gathered in advance—
                             drift
                                       to what sees and misremembers
                                      what hears and draws occultation
                                        against eye and stumbling
                                                                      theories
                                             our language as music, as more music
                                              than discarded chords     not the dead
                                                                              they
 are here breathing thin as string, un
-buttoning this hour of
 our beginning motive to
                      occupy
     our splitting silhouettes

 

            finding groove in
    velocity’s purpose

 


Of this Momentum Song (two)                                
                              —fragments of this early morning carry

 

                                        Usurp, fingers gather shadow,
                                       scent, blood and rhythm
                                         of your mirror, algorithm
                                                         assumption
                                     in secret.  Each throat a bracketed
                                      hall, strong, privileged living, watching
                                                                   of
  the crow carve name.
 And balance. Craved silence
  to ruminate
             each
    contouring misery, each
  system’s velocity     across
 vacant mass and its
                 linear
                              truncation.  Born here you
                                 were wanted, wanting more from
                                a strange recluse, gold section
                                  of the maker’s tongue
                                                       spoke
                               of love     :a sadness made you.
                                 Distance makes their now
                                   a hollow bone shows space
                                                          where
  once hands made
 lyric to hide
   your name within
     its prose.  Un
-broken you now
    hold with strong
      hands what could
                  not
  hold in grasp or melody.
   Pitchy steps pattern folly,
  voices’ swirl engage
                     the
   new beginning, as with
    this morning of hallowed
                                            rediscovery

 


Of this momentum song (three)
                        —aggregated plan in stages

 

i.

                             We, us, our
                           meeting, designed to
                            reflect person as personal
                              drum reflection:
                                            hear
   that mention (we can
  soliloquy later— back
    turned) of rhythm off
   the tongue, rhythm
                     as
 performance as guide
  and glue, composition
    memo hung to ourselves
   how to recall position…
                    expanse
                                 memory—

 

ii

 don’t fatigue, this needs
                      you,
  you and hands, as hands
   and song, a song toward
 tongue     disjointed
                      and
                                 conjoining harmonies       
                                sustained (we can solo
                                  later, tongue-in/up
                                   fabricated science)
                                                   anyone
                               can witness silence, pretend to
                                know the portended,
                              confirm this pleasure
                                                 is
 mobile and memory:
  recall our meeting’s allegorical
                birth?—

 

iii.

                             reach: perfumed forehead
                            guides you, —and the thirst
                             weighed well into a fist
                             breaking bones while you
                                                    throat
                              it… recall the sequence?:
                               each earth resembled us
                              moved our limbs our tongues our
                                                      drums—
  we need to move
 or, what chases will
hold will bend us
   back to stagnant
              rotations
our plan, remember
 is to move and never
revert: drums are
  away
                 let’s
                           gather—

 

 

 

Felino A. Soriano directs supported living and independent living programs providing supports to adults with developmental disabilities.  His poetry appears in CHURN, BlazeVOX, 3:AM Magazine, The National Poetry Review, Small Po[r]tions, and elsewhere.  His books of poetry include sparse anatomies of single antecedents (2015), Of isolated limning (2014), Pathos|particular invocation (2013), Of language|s| the rain speaks (2012), and Intentions of Aligned Demarcations (2011).  He publishes the online journal Of/withVisit FelinoASoriano.info for more information.  

 

Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Friday, May 20, 2016 - 09:33