12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

April 25 Hold

Hold – from notes written in deepest, darkest february

i will hold
clasp scramble clutch
skin of my teeth
root of my spine
knock the caps off my knees
walk on the knobble of bone and cartilage
till the trail of powder and gore and sun
calls the ants from their hills
i will hold the fuck on
a boxer pup with a wonkykong toy
tonguing out the last imagined taste
that molecule of nothing but
marrow white
white sky
grip scramble grapple
till fingernails flick backwards
and the quick sings lah-lahs
handholds footholds
mould and lichen
clamber on stumps if i must
i must
then press my lips to the cliff
that kiss a vacuum
a herring to dry
and when i fall to the sea
i’ll push back whole tides with my nose
take the bit of the moon
till she reins it in and it barbs in my throat
till the dead skin of my smile
pulls to the riper part
bright with life
i will fuck it up
i will say it wrong
clasp with thigh and elbow
and chin quiver
and heart shake
i will
thread together a nylon line
words that don’t matter
till they’re a net
and matter
and i will
press cling
like salami between molars
like fear and salt like
life like you
like you

Screen Shot 2013-12-04 at 8.19.20 PM

Tell me wotcha reckon

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