In our aquatic phase we found a safety net in the circuit of dust around the moon and back

And that all the words for crooked
                              came before what was here before
Sycamore’s curled leaf teasing a hint of hands
                                                        to hold the axe
                                       My body the handle
You will push flat
                 like nuclear wind and shadows
                                                                  where we return the lungs to rest
                         breaking off                                                 

                                                into everything we missed

to see the laziness of who we are in all the words past love that mushrooms gave us
Are you ready to be left alone
                                                     with what you are
                                                                                       outside the body
A wet grey moses down the nile

                                                         where all the trees are you
                                                        And the wind is you
                                                         And the salt is you    
                                                         And the snakes are you

We are a tidy bow on water
                                      fucking up this flower’s face
                                       in our study of basket weaving
for a stupid time
                          of tar and fear
       There is a fish in each of us swimming to the surface


This is it

It’s happening
some cells divide
as others die
and maybe some see around the bend
the curvature of time
to know the foam beneath
or hear the exhortation
to live humbly in its presence

Because it’s a fact
that constellations are selves
in the ways we place faith and power
in the places we can’t fill with patterns

And it’s the law
that you must love yourself
as much as the pedestrian
in the crosswalk
that every day
with small lies
we break


Adam Tedesco is a founding editor of REALITY BEACH, a journal of new poetics. He conducts interviews and analyzes dreams for Drunk In A Midnight Choir. His recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Fence, Funhouse, Fanzine, Gramma, Pouch, Hobart, Plinth and elsewhere. He is the author of several chapbooks, most recently HEART SUTRA, and ABLAZA (Lithic Press).

Their favourite conspiracy theory is the shared belief that any of this is real. We have never proved it not to be a dream, not to be the space between some good othernesses.