all blur
In Armenian the word for people is “zhoghovu'rth.” I am not Armenian, but I still use the word.
Move. Blur. Echo. Even monstrosities
must dance on their monkey legs. Form that word
meaning the people – “zhoghovu'rth.” All these
things need to matter; that lost ark anchored
on Mt. Ararat; that passion to save
something; this grotesque need to turn homeward.
Home? I carry Her everywhere. I crave
so much and spend hours gagging on curd
and crust and ill whey. Love can be grotesque
but so too can rhyme you whined, all viral.
All ill. A house in motion. Drop-top desk
binding down the sky. I have no people.
No myth. Just movement. Just a blur, lover.
I am all streak, no pause. All smudge. All blur.