Instructions for the End
Everything seems closer from far away. Your face
a name on an envelope. Here is your hair
in ink, a cathedral. Do you trust me?
You can always remove the keystone.
A summer scarf looking for a wheel.
The hair on my sheets wrapped tight
round my fingers. Slipped in my mouth
a nipple resistant to fingerprints. Follow this
to the beginning, trace upon trace
removed (The paper is blank. The pulp
is unpressed. The tree is a virgin
to sawblades. The earth is empty,
is an empty lake) to memory: Before me
is your back on a breakwater, your hair
an opening to your neck, your skin a shadow
of my tongue. An effigy burns
eternally. It is never erased. All ashes
are arrows. The bluejay of your stare.
“Instructions for the End” appeared in Zone 3, #48.