the silo of archeology

I speak the premise of antennae
their hallucinatory sediments
their toxic gatherings

Do you hear a cloud of knife blades

I am not a word opening
like a bolero
like the petals of hibiscus simplex
like shoes, gloves, hands and feet

I am radio waves
smoking blue darkness

Do you hear the night emitting swords
for the Sun King

I am attacked
by clocks with surprising edges

Do you hear yourself
in a cloud of knife blades
in the sediment of pointless moons

I pass like signs on a parasitic highway

Do you hear

I’m stranded on a manic island
caught in oceans of light