Otherness and Milk – Levi Morrow

Otherness and Milk


Love is holding
My daughter vomiting
Against my chest

Whisper quiet comforts
Coated in undigested
Otherness and milk

זרות וחלב

אהבה זה להחזיק
את ביתי מקיאה
על חזי

לוחש ניחומים שקטים
מצופה זרות וחלב
לא מעוכל

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(LORD)

In bed (Lord) (Lord) (Lord) 
Beating myself into a pulp but nothing coming out 
Scattered to the winds. A tree! What was that? A leaf? 
Tear my eyes out and replace them with hair. 
My nose is no longer worthy of crushed mint or the membranes 
Slipping out of cathedrals, trying to penetrate our skulls. With exact measurement we have taken the size of the world, no we know the end. But until then. A thread spool, grandma humming at the fire, rocking back and forth, more spools, not enough thread. Dead. 

I said I wanted babies from wombs. But really 
They may as well sprout from my mind. Try me again. 2 for my brain 3 for my heart 
4 leads to reception we have 24/7 service for those who cannot sleep at nightFor those who hang suspended above their beds and cannot turn for fear of tumbling:
Off the side 
Down the hills 
Pails of water boiled 
Screaming into the ears 
Trudging through exiled cotton swabs 
In lost trash cans
That sit now 
With battery juice 
At the bottom of my landfill brain. 
Desolate (Lord). Impervious to prayer (LORDLORDLORD) 

And god is not above. god is your eye which is you but don’t you dare teach that to the children falling into buckets of shredded tires 
Interspersed with semen capsulettes. Enough water? Enough drops? For brooklyn bridge steams and the golden gate is red with roasted beans, fanatically screaming only to those who have slept in the street. 

now you see his muscles, his taught black muscles, slow and hi definition roaring to drive the nail home. All of this land, this floor upon which we have been threshed,
before it all, this mass, the pangeanic chaos that rips itself apart in order to manifest visions of ourselves, documenting our final minutes [ships have been sent for your sister] [planes have been snatched out of the sky]

(we have set them in the schoolyard
we have built around them bricks,
ones too large to reassemble,
bricks that are too thick) 

Picking at his feet, stumbling across the street, wailing in his sheet 
WHAT EXACTLY is wrong with this boy
Where exactly do we find the capsules to contain? If we let it all out (Lord, nonononoanythingbuthtat Lord) 
someone is going to see us on the street in the theater with the blinds up shaking jumping with short hops over and over trying to reach the stars 
Transferring all kinetic energy upward into the brain and up go the hands waiting for salvation which does not find itself top down
rather from your feet all the way to the center which has a foil of you
right outside of you and I swear if you listen you can reach out your hand
and dive into the depths that trample themselves
in every waking moment to create itself anew.

Eyeballs eyeballs eyeballs eyeballs.
And the snot in your nose and the teeth in your gums (sit and feel the teeth through your mandible jaw, your eyes I remind you are sockets, you could choose to pull them out.) 

Bow bow bow down, head to the ground, return to the womb, break open fava beans with the heel of your boot. Smell them.
Go clean your eyes with tan wrinkled smiles. No more sagging flesh. Rivers of cosmetics find their way backwards into purses that sway at the click of a heel. 

My eyes, ma! (Close his eyes, laddies! You’ve got to turn the crank harder with each sublime blind thrust! Just a bit more laddies, up up up, he can be reached on his sapphire throne. You have to believe upwards to reach that golden tipped throne!) 

truth beats its head against the wall, shackled to our mastodonic cerebral sentimentality.
Oh shut him up or bring him within a centimeter of himself but don’t let him touch (I can feel my own breath, ma!)
Don’t let them touch. Please don’t let them touch. 

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מובלט – Levi Morrow

עד מתי אפסע
על שתי גדות
הגדר

ומי הוציאני מירכתי הבית
?ושכחני
למי יש לאל ידו
?לקחני

ועמדתי על ראש הגדר
מובלט
נחשפתי וחיפשתי המקום
המוחלט
וקיוויתי לגואל ליום האחרון

והיה ביום ההוא אקרא אישי
ולא אקראי עוד בעלי

ואמרתי על הגדר
צר לי מאד
נפלה נא ביד ה׳
כי רבים רחמו
וביד אדם אל אפלה

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A Primitive Manifesto

We want the ground. Some steaming weed worn loamy earth to plant a seed in no more philsophication of divine, we want a leg and an arm and a full moon. And glaring teeth. 
And maddened laughter. Barren hilltops save for fires with which we light our torches and march down to the department stores to warm all the helpless little souls by the meager light of burning furniture. 
We demand the drums. The sublimation of our unfulfilled searching will resound 
Across the thorn filled valleys. All that was held back will be released, all that was stored in aisles will come crashing down in a prayer of glass and oil and pickles and peaches and 404’s trickling under  automatic doors.
24/7! We are wide awake in our beds.
365! Someone is always at the counter ready to take our call. 
But in these aisles we cannot find:
Goat hair and sinew
Wolf traps and spears. 
Our nomenclature includes: loincloth : ceremony : embracing the void
A mission we have taken upon ourselves as the last living souls. To permeate the now. To re-be of the ground. To feel our brains seethe with sea foam and our bodies filled
with pounding blood and with this blood pounding in our ears 
To erupt past the thin membrane between us and the successive vistas of life and pain. MA. We run fast in sun cracked sandalled feet. MA. We call your name alone at night. MA. We have grown our nails out long so as to dig with desperate gestures into the soil, 
have you breathe inside of us as long as we refuse to
SHOWER AND BRUSH AND BE CLEAN MA! we are speaking softly now. we are silently finding the words to chant. we have writhed in our semen stained sheets for so long that at the thought of hearing his word we skip in the streets declaring only to ourselves “in my blood i shall live.”
ma. we are the first to rebend our knees and return to your womb. we cast away our incense sticks and stained glass eyes to see a tree. we mumble prayers, ma. We mutter incoherently. We are the solemn eyed solipsists barking in the park.
We are returning from our escape pods ejected to the farthest reaches of our self-conceived galaxies. we know of the cool feeling of caves when our hearts are aflame, we stare out from busses longingly at those black holes in the mountains and dream ascetic dreams. oh ma hey ma, ima if you hear me, ma then but a measly drop of milk for the parched lads. 

(Yes. You there. With frazzled hair. Didn’t I see you eyeing the sky yesterday, scratching yourself inside out for divine love? Well let us hear it then. Spit it out chop chop we have groomed lads to turn wild and hair to pile up. 
Well sir, I was thinking, divine love, right? Trickle down or trickle up? 
Trickle down son. Be sensible with your queries. 
Yes father, i just was wondering. If trickle up, if waiting for suck. Why are the fields grey, and the white bellied lizards don’t come out to play. Enough of your rhymes, lad. To the cave) there we have assembled folding bleachers in circles and each man gets his turn, his turn to jump and cackle and yell “I AM ADAM KADMON” and then go off to float in salty seas. Initiation is another term of our primitive nomenclature that we scrawl onto animal hides and burrow away in clay jars that we then smash and unfurl the scroll and wail out from mountaintops all that got stuck in our veins. Humility !!! if that is your conquering trait then you are one of us make no mistake to be made for we know that the temple has been introverted and the sacrifice is ourselves and training begins the moment you have grabbed at the skull beneath your skin and emitted some sound that turned you inside out make no mistake. nullified and negated our pipes are pipes of bone and when we wail we dance to our own whistling tune. we are pulling out the bleachers now, one by one the massive planks, shot into with round metal bolts slide into place. We hook up our vines to the edges to pull back our brothers who have fallen skyward, all the while bellowing so they can hear for certain: YOU ARE NOT SOME (METAPHYSICAL) MANIFESTATION. YOU ARE HERE <> HEAR ME? With each thrust with each spilled seed we reel them in and pat their hair and kiss their clammy foreheads and mend their fingers jammed in between the lines. “The virtue seeking is over” we declare. We show our brothers healthy trees and burnt fields, bare fanged creatures ripping into prey and healthy babes smothered by the teat. All things in pain. Until we rejoice in the deaths incumbent, running on an endless treadmill underneath the yellow street lights in the dark. 

We will shake you awake you from your metaphysicality
We grab you by the shoulders and shake and awake you, now whispering the words – here is your shoulder. here – your firm breast with a chest of frightening bone. 
with reckless velocity inwards we will rediscover the moon peeking out from behind the buildings and casting itself nightly back into the sky to continue its weary routine of renewal. isnt enough to flail and pound at the last wall in your heart. isnt enough to claw at your eyelids and drift your key in a lock that just does not catch. For you are locked out of yourself. And we are here to give you a key. Brother, we saw you through your dimly lit window dancing. So we have now arrived at your door in robes of white light cotton that lets you feel the breeze. We enter into your room and undress you and anoint your hair and beard with oil that stains the carpet. We seat you in your chair in the middle of your room and command: scratch your balls and pick your nose and pick your toes and scratch your scalp and ENOUGH. We wash you of your shame and chant in deep voices while placing upon you a cloak of satin blue. You follow us into the mountains where we have goats and cows. You follow us to the firelight and hoist a torch in unison with us; you will know what it is again to feel a tree and you will learn beside us how to mark the ground. We teach you to kiss the ground and smell the heady grass. We are kneeling in our prayers and our eyes are the sea. You are here we repeat to you repeatedly. When you arise and when you go to bed “You are here”. Tonight we take your sheets and pitch them with tar. Your mattress will go up in flame as we yip and yell with delight. We are delighted. Our hearts are overborn. 

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סיפור חיי – שייקי גרייבז

כן, אני הולך ללמוד
כן, אני אהיה עשיר 
מכל תורת הסוד
.שאני הולך ללמוד
כן אני מכיר ילדה
 פשוט בת כלבה
אך בטוח תתרשם 
.מכח הדרשה 

אני אלך לאפריקה 
להאכיל שם ילדים 
עם ידע תזונתי 
.שנלמד בלימודים
כן, אלך לחלל
חללית אני ארכיב
ואמצא כדור חדש
.ויישוב להציב

ועל כדורי החדש
כולם צמאים לדעת
וכמו שכבר קבענו 
.יש לי לא מעט
אתחיל לי ישיבה 
היא תהיה כולה שלי 
התלמידיי הם ילמדו   
.ואשב לי על כסי

Yeah, I’m going to college
Yeah, I’m going to get rich
Off of the knowledge
That I learn from college
Yeah, I know this girl
She acts like a bitch
But I bet I’ll impress her with
Some fancy lecture

Yeah, I’ll go to Africa
Feed all the kids
With nutritional knowledge
That I learned in college
I’ll go to outer-space
Yeah, I will build a ship
Find a new planet
And populate it

Yeah, on my new planet they’ll
Hunger for thought
And as we’ve established
That’s just what I’ve got
I’ll start a college
And make it my own
And my students will learn
While I sit on my throne

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דביקות – Sarah Levin

 (Keep-Kippah) 

When I stroke the inside of my baby’s hand, her fingers slam shut around mine like a combination lock. A reflex, which is to say that she does not know what she is doing, even as those tiny twiggy fingers grab and pry with the urgency of the dying

— for love is stronger than death –

Lord let me cling to you with a baby’s fingers, with a predator’s jaw, with an adhesive heart. Let me dig into your hair like the teeth of a comb, pulling, straightening, tangling, longing. Let me cover your head on rainy days, on holy days, every day. And when you forsake me, let me lie abandoned by the wayside: a reflex. I will be belly-up, my tines in the air, waiting. Like my baby spread out in front of me, staring at her feet, waiting for milk, I will be waiting, waiting.

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