Gale Marie Thompson

*

FOUND FOOTAGE

I must be
the something else
in front of
the you
a figurehead
for when the wolves
move in
The day’s heat
needles away
and another of my body
gets splayed onto things
that grow
onto other things
Nature eventually
covers itself
and if I hold my hands
near the steam
long enough
I lose my footing
but stay quiet
I look
for resonances
in this kind
of animal clarity
I walk as if
learning landscape
repeat the same movie
and its deep history
being once removed
from your black sediment
and blurry skin
Perhaps we have already
started
in this new world
perhaps we are
far away now
Creatures
of the deep
I am growing up
before your very eyes

*

*

DEEP BLUE SEA

Last night when we danced
we were a constellation. A budding.
You may not remember this,
but someone was closer than you think.
Someone saw you make gestures
you’ve never made in all your waking life.

Soon you will want to forgo this easiness.
Physical quantities are inherently fuzzy.
Right now I am curling my hair
and listening to Swan Lake.
When I am talking to you I say too much.
I want you to sit on my hips
while the blood washes in.
I want all of this trying again to last.

Months pass and no one kisses me
in the sun. I lose my footing.
I slip out of superstition.
I see what a girl needs and does
and it is what I choose not to need and do.
I can learn almost anything.
I can hover, move on, hover.
A body becomes more massive
once you recognize the space.
Try not to turn it into an object.
Try not to recognize it too soon.
The house will be the same
no matter what you do to it.

*

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