Another Yellow Umbrella

(annotative) accompaniment to the book of karma

Some of the images I worked with; this material from
envelopes, ripped printed paper, hands on fire-
scissors, queen Isadora, razorblade, inkwell, coffee: those
refutable stain patterns in the clouds. One key—aqui;
What I mean is your heart is an eye,
which is to say that you have a good heart
for good things we all might.
Take it into consideration: all the night-time
I spent humming myself to glue in the sound booth.
Torn strips of a stolen roll off medical tape; trying
to gain advantage over my bleeding hatches:
There is more than one way to compose a letter to a painter.
If I am on some boat with this; I take a walk—astern;
away from the table, toward where the beginning of the ship
sits low in the sea, low. Seat of propulsion, position
is where you put it; I agree. Like a mirror
agrees with whatever it opposes; as this
slippery devotion knows the winged-wake of the boat
& square of a stern. In the page I built
we woman around in lifejackets,
crack bright red lobsters on white porcelain; ignore
the sea travailing through the floor: I will let
the water prove there is no straight line.
Time breaks water, a meal in half; tension
in the mechanics of a woman’s fist— the American
Woman! is a broken time-piece I think I’m looking back
at; the winged shape of that scissored wake waking; breaks
and beats the distance between suns set & abyssal plane.
My hands pretend to be stained with bloody clouds
of krill; tinted a pathos-ian white-blue and complain
of the ways love is not a night-cruiser; with all due respect.