Nada Gordon


hair encircles the mind
that sits a stone's throw
from transparency, trapping
life forms, flies, owls,
woodchucks, manatees, baleen

just like the stars that
never go out but camouflage
in daylight and we are 
very nearly moths, reaching

dancing into elephant or
disjoint irony into
pretend speaking. or
pretend dead grasshopper

those lazy jerks of language,
little spells
like used toothpicks --
they paralyze even
the stiffest resistance

thorning. unruled.
a shell full of ash
and then a candle

power outrage -- how
thrown up against
banks of difficulty.
and the body, prone
or supine. or both at once.

it's dark. darkness
throws up figures in approach
just past the cordon.

darkness wiggles imperceptibly


And then there are 
no department stores,
and I feel bored.
And obligation is devoured.

Let's obliterate everything!
Let's will our own mortality
on the future!

And then there's the ostrich
in the crevice, out of which
a great synthesized chord
shockingly blossoms!

You're there with me
but I don't know who
you is. Ther is no true
you, and the you
I think there is
irritates me.

You know what I mean.

This we call the
problem of you.

Eyes cross in 
darkness, thinking
about you.
It's the problem
of the urn (the yearn).
The problem 
of the red yarn.

Or the pretend red yarn.
I want a potato in foil.

I want to shake off
other human beings like
larvae, but then
I feel so lonely.

Something skittling over
water: business.
and then spilling over
water: the island is
glowing again. Whatever
I lost I just         lost.

a tattoo of darkness on my breast
a tattoo of you on my face
body bound in red yarn

and wait for unravel

what kind musik

how the hook above 
the dot changes the
music, changes the mean

what    kind        musk

Audio of Ravel by Nada Gordon

Volume Five Index