no one heard it, and: To those who would remove to here

No one heard it

       (On Eddie, 1928-1939)

They came in hours later, heavy and I listened,ear to ceiling for his voice in a beam. It chokedon the ash of everything. He was everythingand I knew, I knew he was everything caught.

Ear to ceiling, his voice in a beam, choked,caved in, reminded me of a road he dreamt of onceand I knew, I knew he was everything caught.No road at all, no sky, just sun and shifters

caved in, reminded of the road he dreamt once.He’d think no road is the best road for deserters and fiends.No, no road at all, just sky. No, sun and shifters.He heard them, found things they’d left empty

and he thought no road, the best road for deserters, and fiendsfollowed, made camp in his scream. A nightmare, he said.He heard them, found things they’d left empty,an extra hand. Said he was scared in that dream.

It followed, made camp. His scream, a nightmare. He saidit was great, a great creature with seven eyes and four arms,an extra hand he said was scared. In that dreamhe was quiet and those shifters weren’t enough for the sound it made.

To those who would remove to here¹

Prepare for contortions, for the guise of calm teeth, eyes compelled             to mercy. Prepare to sit a while and listen.

“There’s, we forgot,” feet said, twisted, clumsy on the hardwood.

Mercy is—or skittish reminders of putting another run in your mother’s            best stockings—what it’s really like.

                    For those who would remove to here

Deeper still, the roots/stalks grow along cruel shoulders. Deeper still            and stretching, they said no one made it.

They said keep listening, even after the song’s ended. Wait for the pause            where silence holds fast to heavy feet and muffled talk of thehollandaise (how it tastes unusually sweet tonight). The band breaks,                        heads to the bar

And the last of the flotsam wafts ashore—bewildered, idled a while,            buried, unburied—all ask, “what are we looking for?”

Eyes only see so much before the blind spots come in. Prepare                        for sight and sawdust.

                Those who would remove to here

    Know water by its name. Listen. It doesn’t stop and even after                we’ve left it hangs/sticks/stays.

They said build a room of guilt. They said build. And feet patterned                        a room for swaying.

He left with some woman he said he saw swaying. “She had her eyesclosed,” he said. “She felt it and she loved it.” But he couldn’t hear it.        No one did. Swaying wherever she was—strolling. The air sweet,                fresh like lawn clippings or bird seed.

                To those who removed to here

Thank you. Prepared to sing in the dark, I took the long way, walked back   with my eyes closed, following it like I used to, like they said I should.