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.