Four Poems
Colie Collen

. object music .

revenant, our
already pursued, pattern
chants the world solid
for us

[ and repeats ]

as dust so sticks to flapping tongues
& thunder is a sound no tongue can make

and through the dotted window
the spotted screen
a photo of lakelife in ages of comfort : water in the pipes

as long songs
of each mark
on moving plane

--- ----in cars, we sing of speed

[ and repeat ]

things heard through things through things heard

( not like ahh, not like sighing,
like Aaaaaa
like little boys

being airplanes;
like airplanes )

If you sense that the characters

are flat
or hidden
(that they may be incredibly complex
while you, in fact, are flat)
-- mind.

how robotic:

the slow mouth moving in the yolky mucus and an eye
as well, all separate from the fake little mouth, all
encased in shine and awe goop. looking about
with a vertical cornea. goat eye to frighten us
crazy eye goat. this thing the air pulled out

neither pushing nor being pushed by choice.
she licked off its yellow, clear, and red-purple.

she ate all the extra she'd purged, the transportive
media, thanking it with tongue and mouth. "look at her
perfect clean butthole," Ashley said, "she is so fresh."
the kid came curly and blond, awkward-legged.
she sips and sleeps, no pressure now she's in some space

once gathered

it was multilayered, a solid and material patch of graphic time, even dimensional
beyond anything I've passed --- like walking by dark fenceposts, a large empty house
on their other side, which though empty has its windows, its ghosts, but the walker does not look
at the house, or at the trees on the path's other side, or at the fading light, or at the path, but feels and is
inside and is the house as she walks past, like the house is a blue whale and she alone adrift in a twilight sea,
and neither mean each other any harm. the orgasm came toward and grazed me with its mass, and kept moving.