Joshua Ware

Psychovisual Fuckface

This texture of yours
repeats and, in repeating
you lie corpsed, cadavered
and beautifully so, for to repeat
as in redundancy
means meaning dies
or vanishes b/c meaning
means little when repeating
and, repeatingly so
my mother warned me
I am heavy, so, maybe
perhaps, repeated, bored
with repetition
as you won’t long for good
or the best ways
to save me, but succor
sounds, waves of sound
saved in the wave
itself, a thirst beyondful
sky from below
but waves are sky, repeated
only grounded and gone
no more the death of birds
than fish, corpsed
cadavered, and beautifully
so, repeating and repeated
in the texture
of your meaning
vanished, dead, or goodly
gone and redundant

Psychovisual Fuckface

Platelets, perhaps, of dust, or pollen
but certainly something small and, no doubt
absent to the unlit eye
reveal themselves in the slant
light breaking open
above a room, as morning, though only
in a dream, cuts across
floorboards hewn from rose
wood, most likely, yet, maybe, some
other wood of deeper grain, still
in the moment before
bodies awake, breaking, or, at
least about to, them
selves, like dawn, and end
the silence as they begin, again
though only in a dream, their day
thus dispersing, once
more, flecked and falling minutia
to a swifter air around
them, only, of course, in the dream

Joshua Ware is the author of Homage to Homage to Homage to Creeley (Furniture Press Books) and several chapbooks, most recently Imaginary Portraits (Greying Ghost Press); How We Remake the World (Slope Editions), co-written with Trey Moody; and SDVIG (alice blue books), co-written with Natasha Kessler.