print previewback DENNIS HINRICHSEN
[box of light with Keats in it] [& an iPhone] [& a boy]
—Keats // these lungs again are yours // riding the daylight // fully
blooded with what flared in you // burned you // burned & blossomed
so you knew the colour of that blood // arterial // & were enslaved // as I
am enslaved to the same punishing death // reciting the poem // as is
the child who imagines my pleasure & ease // yet who must muck
out // middle of the Congo // a pearl-gray // blue-gray // lustrous
mineral // torque of misery & extinction // corrosion burring chisel //
boy’s tongue // tip of a Kalashnikov // his photograph // synapse that
loves the charge & fires my phone alive //
Set Lock Screen// he kneels in
a trench // Set Home
Screen// his head is down //
Set Both // left hand // color
of copper // about to graze
the coppery slag &
refuse //
a trench // Set Home
Screen// his head is down //
Set Both // left hand // color
of copper // about to graze
the coppery slag &
refuse //
the waste current //
my face staring down with blasted eyes // a pitiful // electric // mercy
my face staring down with blasted eyes // a pitiful // electric // mercy