The Porcupinity of the Stars. Gary Barwin

an open mouth

      a glimpse of the planet

      its fleshy inner core

      plush H towel people

      we mist the sky with our blue plum lungs

      make heaven heron-dark with our breathing

      fog the limits with spirit and blue exhalation

      in each of us

      lungs that are H

      for we belong to the air

      h

      I say

      H

      because it is a pleasure and a surprise to breathe

FEET

      I cut off my left, give it to the sea

      others give their right

      father, sister, mother, shoes

      I look out at the ocean

      heart, kidneys, lungs, brother

      I wait for the consolation of water

OPPOSABLE CONSCIOUSNESS

      under the papers of my desk

      I discover

      a small stone

      yesterday I invented fire

      today

      I will create

      a new tool

      I will call it hammer

      I pick up the stone

      I smash it against my forehead

      the clouds part and there is thunder

      the trumpets of my ears

      signal those to the east of me

      those to the west

      an army sets out across a blood red sea

      a tiny baby is propped

      in wet sand between the shores

      I will call it baby

      a useful tool

      neither one thing

      nor the other

NAKED STONES THE WHOLE DAY LONG

      shaman of the wallpaper

      headboard priest in boxers

      we wander the glad morning

      where the sighing future waits

      a sweet flower surrounds us

      our fingers the dark plough of anxious hours

      sun falls on the melismatic bones of heroes

      each cup of clever sky clinging to

      the city like a snowflake in the mouth

      this is the earth

      fences more tolerable than dreams

      jockey shorts in the jaws of

      each well-formed heart in every pleasant land

      dancing on the road I feel

      oxen fall from my shoulders

      mother, children, father

      wading away from night

      there’s a seraph on my bosom

      fate on apathy’s glimmering brow

      lips are blue fire lashes

      or idle thought

      an hour an eye I love

      earth’s contingent language

      ancient blue petal

SOME OF THE PARTS

      the girl pushed

      a long-handled broom

      along the floor

      Father could hardly bear it

      tears streamed from his eyes

      silent laughter transformed his face

      his body was shaken with

      spasms of delight

      he was a bird

      no bigger than a dust mite

      looking for his place

      in the world

      his lifted wings were

      invisible to all who knew

      the broom as broom

      the pleasurable eddies

      of the Big Bang

      the broad sweep

      of time across the floor

      the updraft of memory

      those who knew

      felt the swoop

      of Father’s wings

      saw them raised in quaking splendour as

      he created from the spasms

      of his tiny body

      the rippling laughter

      the swept-clean ghost

ONE-FACED

      don’t do it, I said

      choosing a piece of toast

      a perfect fried egg

      but she unhooked her jaw

      and swallowed the sun

      now it was really dark

      and she stood up from the table

      breakfast was over

      I couldn’t find my running shoes

      or my briefcase hand

      my dreams were of the moon spitting

      as I tried to play chess

      my abdomen was a sand dune

      shaped by the wind

      into the grains of a million

      directionless games of beach volleyball

      an infinite number of piglets

      gnawed on my fingers, which were sprouting

      uncomfortably from every orifice

      there was no coffee

      the paperboy crawled up the stairs

      then ran away

      bakers made bread but the yeast didn’t care

      and nothing rose

      the day passed

      my wife called friends

      arranged a carnival

      crocheted a thunderstorm while I slept

      she made lunch in darkness

      used the bones of the dog to retread

      the parson’s tires

      and the sun

      a hero with but one vast and burning face

      travelled all day

      through the sparkling labyrinth of my wife

      when it was time

      she lay on the lawn

      and the sprinkler kicked in

      we