Julie Doxsee

 

 

 

A Name for the Part of You Still Unconscious

 

 

 

a tinsel handful 

your gangster stuffed

above the wood: most of a doorway’s light

 

 

one by one led off

 

 

between your toes, horse

over the ridge

to hear breath change then

 

smooth the air in front of the mouth & no one knew.

 

 

 

 

What Happened to the Legs of the Ghost
 
 
The fence 
six tons of 
 
marble
hauled & 
 
the harmony 
of men’s ache 
 
stuck.  
 
A photo
of the ghost 
 
of it any 
architect 
 
measures.
I find 
 
the bones 
 
alarming,
soft.  Who 
 
knew
to touch
 
so light.
 

    
 
 
Leave Architecture to its Body
 
no handprint 
looks like a circle
 
scribbled with 
antler,
 
eaten-away acorn
a shot glance
 
intercepts. We 
sucked
 
the stem of
electricity 
 
as matter wore 
a sudden word &
 
red tattoos
rose up.
 
 
 
 
Gods Warn Against the Ingestion of Bricks and Angels
 
 
My chest  
 
swallows 
 
other body 
 
cavities, nose 
 
a ghoul above 
 
noise.
 
Connect the 
 
guts of 
 
your movie 
 
camera to 
 
my mirror.