looking out the window with longing out the window with looking out the sun is
shining she is looking out the summer has hoping the sun will last out the
window in june she looked in june the scent of earth out the window we long for
the scent of earth to fade how we wish the scent would fade spring would fade
less quickly through june whilst the sun burns down through the window whilst
looking through how we wish the scent would fade less quickly resonate more
I thought of continuing on to Brighton
and walking into the sea
a long straight walk from station to street
to shifting stone beach
to reprieve of packed sand shallows
and then beyond
to I don't know
(I had not yet been
I have dined with bikers, counts and vicars.
I have dined.
on the crumbs wedged
and table leg,
playing your small stories
into desperate constellations.
Mummified. Greasing and cracking
she can be formed into the vessel you require,
can be costumed by nimble digits,
her small lies dressed as yes yes me too.
Her cunt empties swill.
I picture you
full face to full sun
inviting the lines
as if this were all it took.
i love you lost as i love you found
we are Now and Now and Now and Now and Now
This morning I passed by empty carcasses waiting to be filled.
This morning I trundled by the shedding of the recently morphed.
the possible is rooted in spacious dirt
the possible is plucked and rebirths, is plucked and rebirths
night unsettled your skin crawls with 4 o'clock
night in agreement my bones knit with space strings to snoring
i go to the store. i come back from the store. i sweep.
black ink coffee soap old fruit
i gather your lost cells
my feet pad round the floor
cleverness dies. i said, cleverness dies! look:
holding a semblance of self together with the cracked dried
glue of fixed ideas disguised as motion-makers,
wailing for freedom whilst declaring its impossibility
until i scream
against this tight brow
you fling cleverness from a rigid hand
trawling for love, your ego sculpts blind
to the motions of the beasts beneath your fingers
hair against soft hair
as they wink and bump under a whisper thin
read as one line:
my left shoulder pulling against my right
ankle imagine the innards of this most
head lolling end of an exhale in a small room in your city...
and in Alsace, a final wet stone falls from its
12th century placing
(my breath dries her winged sleeve)
Geneviève Beth Grady is a Canadian dance artist living in