The Impossible Machine
TOUSSELLE
She kissed her lips
she wet them dry
she turnled honey
in her crease

She loved her limbs
she movened light
she lost the starlight
in her hair

She walked the night
like oyster steps
a hallway dark
all members dreams

like stone and wood
beside the step
to turn a thought
like sideways stairs

Or others are like
light and dark
a threaded frame
in sunless parks

Like arrowlets in
shutterframes
or in the chistling
of a montbank statuary

ways that fret
their loss
on hopscotch lines
that whelm their firri

Like darkling comes
and crooks its delve
such black poisons
hide mere rivuled shallows

Liek gutters, suspect
on a roof of church

Not those that were
or aren't
or thread their fare
from pockets
threaded forms

Like darklights,
and its pigeonscarlet
trading names
like deep embibled fiche

the scratch of stars
or nobled elements
arrayed like darkness
holding twilight square

the chess of elements
arrayed in form
like chiarasque
or basque political baroque

Yet vents,
like fallen ships
vent their spurri
in aperturic mechanatch

like traded names
that throw their veils--
like a slice of water--
thrown sollusive black

beneath the cressive wood
a frame of yellow
turgeoning the well
like targent serpents
fathoming in hell

then from the grommets
so deep in byzantine
came stars and answers
as solaced as teh park

And where the footsteps carried---
Jilted pearls---
As though arrayed in silver flaming
sconces
Her feet moved, all oyster-covered


With that emblem
that gardens,
all circle-set
gire to her milingre

mere eyes, maybe
or something of her happenstance
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by Nathan Coppedge