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.Inconspicuous,we lay low… Low chorus, low-lying sky,Lone Coast… A night without stars it’dbeen,moonless, night no light got thru… Animmunity it wanted to be.The body hethought was his not his, long sincebe-gun to go… Name not all it was, DreadChoirthough we were, dread more real than weor hethought.____________________What did we know and when didwe know we knew it he was asking,a rebellious question we thought.Hos-tile, hopeless, loss’s new recruit,upstart god of the ever stepped on.Unshod.Sojourn’s rut… The hornshad gone home, we as well, unlaysewninto the ground underfoot, stitchedinsur-gency,scrumANABATIC JUKEBOX—“mu” seventy-third part—Skin, bone, meat, blood suspect, wewere again on our way somewhereelse.Body suspect, gone what soulwas, Ohlone games droppingpaintedsticks lay behind us, Lone Coastreceded, we moved on… Sentientwind we’d be one with again, lostwhatsoul once was.Lone Coast, honededgewe hurt our feet on, again we were begin-ning to be gone… As though there’dlong since been only one sun, blanksun, the one sun sun’s eventual end…Blank blacked in, thick indelible ink,bird-beak stylus, again we’d soon be gone…For now it was only a window I stoodat, a boat-bodied harp on the box as Ilooked out.Mamane looked over myshoulder, “Reverend King” the nextcutcame up… Laughter broke out, we’dall been weeping.Sob held at bay bygiggle, we burst out laughing, happytohear time turn back… Trane’s bass reedmade us laugh, keep crying, Dolphy’sclarinet’s high carouse… Ribcage theater.Tease.Tickle.Long fingers workingwhatwas down deeper, laugh though wedid although we wept.We slapped hands andwere laughing, happy to be young again,gladnot knowing better,knew better•Not one death but many we’d heardand of breath now said the same, theother box the box we were stuck in,sound our one release.Bent pitchgaverise, we insisted, to what words gavereason to be, each the eventualghost we sometimes were, eachthat all would end up there… Anan-nouncement, notes posted as wemade our way out.One felt afriend’s gaze cross one’sright shoulder, what one lookedatalso looked at from in back…Husk it was one heard, its unsteadi-ness.Reed’s unwieldiness the boonit now was, captious, we heard it crack.Thus the birdboy’s dreamt kincame toinclude us, cracked husks’ fissureswhispering, droll whistle we fellback from… A Sahelian furtheranceit was we heard, Salif Keita, anothernewcut on the box.We pursed our lips,bit seeds albeit the box fell apart, theutopic box it continued to be…Pursed our lips, bit seeds, gap allthatwas left, bit seeds broke our teeth.Airsuckedin thru the all the emptiness was, bodiless,weall stood asone.____________________Sprung polity’s pneumatic jukeboxit was my friend and I surmised, eachof them the ghost he or she wouldeventually be, crevice and protuberancemoot…What would be there… What wouldnot… Friend whispering into one’sear maybe not, polity we stood asthoughwe were… The window showed a shoe-box garden, green’s wild edge turnedin on green itself, blade rolled into eachleaf,blood each leaf’sreglet•We stood transfixed by the box’spull upward, a balloon or a kite itmight’ve been.A new cut sangthe singer’s beloved, recalled herdressedin only a scarf and on the scarfthe smell of neck sweat, late night’sagitant perfume… It was theglass’s way of speaking wesaw,windowpane bell jar thick…Worried would we get there,what we saw be what we’dget,belled horns bellow again…“Reverend King” came backto us, neck sweat notwith-standing, belled horns’ bellow,bray…We stood reminded we’d been therebefore,caught in the walls’ rumble,saltbox dismay we swayedinside•Rumble was back, rubble, wall allwindow again… Atlantis.East St.Louis.Either.Might’ve beenboth…It was a march we were caughtup in, commencement, a marchwe consoled ourselves.Marchedalbeit we stood unmoving, stoodhoistedhigh we’d have said… Jerichowe’d have said, wall falling, wallall rung even so.Hoisted, al-beit we stood our legs dangled,feetcame off the floor… The hornsplayed hurt it sounded like.Weascended the wall that wasn’tthere.Where were we we were goneso soon we demanded they tellus,see-thru brink an abeyance, myfriend and I and the we I what-said… We were spawn ofwhat tore loose, our legsdan-gled, mud clumps fell fromour feet.A call climbed ourthroats as though it were wethehorns enlisted, “mu” whatwas otherwise wallstuff, adobe,col-loquy ofstraw•“Abide, my friend,” I heard myselfsay, the box’s mouthpiece it seemed.Wood lips, box head, box body.“Abide,”I said even so… It wasn’t Huff,how-ever much it seemed so, the friendwho stood at my back and to myright.Box head, wood lips, boxbody…Shadow box.Cardboard insides…“Abide,” I said, more to myself itmight’ve been, wood lips, box body,boxtongue… Late aspect.Late luxuriousmusic…Endless till it endedwe foundout.____________________Stood happy-sad at the sonic window,Om mani padme hum the glass welooked in thru, bell as in bellowagain…“Fret not thyself,” my friend saidit seemed I said.Bell as in bellowblared on… Death-obsessed friendand foe, witch’s familiar, “Fretnotthyself,” I did say… Empty window,“mu”as in moot.“I do believe,” I said itseemed IsaidBEGINNING “WE THE MIGRATING THEY”—andoumboulouous étude—We the migrating they weinstigated, those in whosename we went.To get wherethey were going and liedownwas all we wanted, love’schoric voices convening,caroling home, home ex-ploded long since… It wasup and be gone again,crabshell taken for sun wherethere was no sun, withoutor about hope no one couldsay…We the migrating they westared out at, prodigal wish toburn elsewhere intransigent,Stella’s high skylight wereStellasuddenly one of us, she theone who said move on…They were not the deadbutdolls of the dead, a dream ofcoming back as we were going [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]