Document 7

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