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Jason Zuzga: "Documents Five, Seven & Eight"</title>
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<p><u>Document 5</u></p>

<p>Write with cactus quill—<br />
I grip a plum of clay<br />
to pig shape pull<br />
me through cars with limbs smashed<br />
though fathers<br />
in there<br />
time makes bones<br />
grow, I wish a clover<br />
fruiting of four-leaf mouths<br />
a fortune of weather<br />
foretold and defrocked smacking<br />
back a car pulled loose<br />
a kid pulled free<br />
a dad threads a blood red wing<br />
and casts words back<br />
there to make a tune<br />
it is okay to write in turn to dead selves they<br />
den us in loam fragrant with movement</p>

<p><u>Document 7</u></p>

<p>To you at twelve, to you at ninety one to me I mean to<br />
PRESS NOW PRESS HERE NOW<br />
To you at twenty two to you to me I mean to<br />
PRESS THIS SPACE ALL IN HERE NOW<br />
To you at fifty seven to you crawling on the floor and then you stop<br />
PRESS NOW PRESS<br />
To you to me to she to me to he to we to PRESS SPACE NOW<br />
RETURN tap PRESS<br />
I lie to warn away your falling sky, I lie to you<br />
I burn and ash, I burn for you<br />
I tie and towel and twirl<br />
In the river in the sand my legs trace a script<br />
PRESS IT PRESS MY CHEST PRESS THIS HAND<br />
I burst into cells I blast into suns I turn to you<br />
At twenty two at ninety nine at forty one at seventy five<br />
PRESS THIS PRESS SPACE JUST CROSS IN TIME<br />
PRESS PACE IN TIME TO FACE<br />
PRESS FACE touch<br />
Sixteen I walk<br />
Out into green light blue<br />
Light red light helium threads up PRESS<br />
ALL SELF IN NOW / TOGETHER / NOW PRESS SPACE<br />
Press it tough between toughnesses and face the press<br />
Mark time with knees<br />
Mark time against feet grounded by feet<br />
Place is an oven jar<br />
Place is a cask jar<br />
Place is a cloak jar<br />
Place is a hold jar hold<br />
NOW PRESS YOUR FACE ACROSS ALL SPACE<br />
NOW At ten I watch me turn into me at forty two<br />
To you I watch me now and then thirty seven thirty eight to thirty nine<br />
I tune out turn in fill with cells tumoring branching<br />
Glancings and ripples of dusts SPRING ME FORTH AND SPRAY<br />
I plant my feet against your feet PLANTED! A lash a direction in space.<br />
I plant my seed PLANTED! A lacing directions of place.<br />
I place my face against the ends of time – a fluted glass – a disk of lime.<br />
A match was lit / one is two is three is four times five is six that dies then<br />
TWENTY dies then NINETY folds into three lives and breathes and cries<br />
Then two fins faster than the speed of light thus two fins snap<br />
DRESS UP! / PREPARE TO SHINE // PRESS FUCK IN LIFE AND LUSH LUCK MEND<br />
Child, everywhere, a wave of light veers once and only there and only once,<br />
But then what? A speck. Then what might become you what might PRESS be<br />
WHAT FORTH MIGHT GUM FROM FROTH / twist the bubbles<br />
PUSH MIGHT THROUGH SOLID TIME / twist the bubbles<br />
WHAT FORTH MIGHT GUM FROM FROTH / twist the bubbles<br />
PRESS SLIGHTEST MIGHT THROUGH SOLID SPACE / twist the bubbles<br />
Sixteen dies sixteen survives concrete here there three goes in concrete,<br />
Blessings be boulders be shrieks be tents all ages catching selves in steps<br />
By fusions' gusts here whistlings urn unto intrastellar height. It's<br />
Night. PRESS LIGHT.<br />
I mean, I want—our hands to sleeve—to hold—UNSTILL a clutch of seraphim.<br />
I mean, I want—the end of mine – a fluted glass – a disk of us in time.</p>

<p><u>Document 8</u></p>

<p>Thrilling bromeliads crest wood fiddled like folding lava.<br />
Juncos dolphin through the mangroves, tulips parrot out of snow.<br />
I will write you a letter about the sloth orphanage, about<br />
The words that the apricot macaques attempted with their mouths.<br />
I will tell you about the moth that landed lightly on my tooth<br />
When I yawned and my jaw grew sore until I decided to push<br />
It out with exhalation and touch of tongue. I will make these feathers<br />
Live for you, for you to crawl into and turn on the gas heat, fly impossible hats<br />
In a warble with a warbler waiting for your distinct timbre.<br />
I can distill a tincture of your tears, I can make a perfume from your<br />
Secret snore. I can do all these things in the jungle at the pole<br />
And make one perfect sugar stick, translucence and transparence<br />
Twirled in glass color ribbon, held to the light, dark in mouth:<br />
Scissor word this from a printed fiber paper of this and<br />
Let the ink dissolve under your shadow, tongue like a pink snowball<br />
Held by a mammal hand inside an aluminum house or in the woods.<br />
Delete the word this from a lit document of this poem, find a way<br />
To make this disappear no matter how and where you find yourself.<br />
Place this in the water. Burn this on a pyre of scrap macaques,<br />
Jangled and car blown, the through-line will connect to another route,<br />
Whether you be tar, electric, made of light or pheromone spat thru tube.</p>