E. Tracy Grinnell








What Confession?



The Body


the senses into

a familiar Illusion

there is no rhyme for



Who would I therefore deceive?



against myself?

against you therefore?

for Thee, I, myself

I justify

I go too far



ahead of myself

the Effigy is

tangled Animals

panoptic glass Eyes



There is no way

which way?




What is it                          we borrow from the world?






But what I want is

to actually careen through



Refusing to name


But it's a soul

will not move

from its Rut


Neither the memory unhinge

Neither my heart from her shell


This the inability



There, the Foil


come out come out





The Address must



the Letters


so May

may make

the soul

in a comprehensive


So it

seems Concrete


I lean

to a State

so Near


Mine is not the one I mimic

I hear the sounds of recorded images

I tape them to my chest

then when the war starts, I amplify

my own Battle Cry

into the Waters—

and more than a Mere

reflecting pool

They are something to die in

Or for

the Dissociation

I embrace as though

it were my own







And make for the real

as if Beyond

the real


and out of this State

I live as a live

Drowned man


I will    all while

With eyes that deceive

Ears, which are useless

Skin that is doubled

Beneath the surface


I shall never again

have Time so I

ride the Horizon

We cannot make

in a world Without








But I do live


There—in that great Deep

that dying Lake—a monumental

sarcophagus I cannot pry







even in

discreet Overtakelessness



I dissect the little Fish

that glide around

my Hands


to prove they live

to ask of them

a Prophesy:



What shall I pry at

you little fish?







But I shall never again have time


These wars legion


Prone [

] the surface maybe



But the Beasts

have Wings





To demolish

in a compromised Skin


a compromised



Paused to Mine

a Mere mire


Sought to chagrin




To a Ruin

to each

a ruin

a Face

all Immured


Our lesion




and the Keys

knocking 'em in


A catch

a Catacomb

Views have a way







Pain a folly


About to tell the World


My folly


Is my pain






My One and Only




My pain immured

My one and only


Fantasy assassins

Of all the little gods


You, en face each of course

Its own self, but you — above

all others — are unique


Have pried my Eyes

with glass stained tears