weir by jackson wills

7/29/2019 Weir by Jackson Wills

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1

Weir

The Argument

Sally and I walk upstream, decide to go to the weir to finish, eat lunch, & leave.

1

Twigs in stream: spokes

purl. Wires in the stone

where weaker rockd eroded. I budged my finger-spoke into the stone.

Stream: water loomed on rocks. Pebble-mail bottom poked foot.

Toe in stream: bubble-swallowed.

Toe in stream: pearl-similar. Rock-weed weather-vaned. Dotted fish swallowed weed-vane.

Sally fish-footed through stream. Beneath the foot, wet gravel swiveled.

Toe in stream: fish-snout. Water attenuating up her thigh lost energy,

and fell: water-peel.

Her foot pierced cohesive twig-patches. Lets go to the weir,

to finish it up, I said. Rock-pressed, Sallys toes belly-inflated: white toads. Ok,

she said.

Fossil-grass under

feet, stone spokes

and filaments budged in the stream. Twig-flavored sour purls. First lets have lunch

here, said Sally. Wire-pebbles in the stream. Dot-pebbles skinned the shore. I toed the

pebble-skin. Ok, I said.

On the shore, we swallowed lunch.

On root-handled pebbles, we talked to chew the food, the wheat breads and the white

cheeses. Sally spoke, but stopped because shed finished chewing. She teeth-peeled cheese,

talked politics to chew.

Sally peeled roots off pebbles.

Pebbles:

granulated stream. Roots off pebbles onto fingers,

off fingers into water:


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wet-roots.

Gnats on pebbles: dots. A wheat crumb on a moss-smeared stone. A gnat breathed on a

pebble.

I dont like wheat, said Sally.

You dont like much.

Should we find shoes?

I dont think we couldfind shoes.

We cant?

Not here. But

back to the weir: we should take the grass path, I finished. Surprise throbbed Sallys

face. Voice:

ice on stomach. We put lunch back in Sallys pocket,

baggy lint on cheese. Sallys rise-pressed feet peeled muds pebble-shell. Ice:

waters skin. Strings of moist bark drying on stones.

Do you feel sorry for Polly? I asked

Probably.


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3

The Argument

Sallys mouth performs, we walk. I reach.

2

We huffed across shore,

onto path. Toe in grass:

white. Wind in

green, fescue-purl, swelling fescue-tissue. Feets toe-foam in the grass. Fescue-

foam. The muhly-rutted fescue, dissenting stems

discoloring the path. I rub-rutted Sallys summer-damaged hair. Milk-light on grass.

We knee-wedged the fescue-sinew.

This path is strange, I said.

I dont know about that.

You dont know about much.

I like shoes.

You do. You never appreciate smaller, truer things.

Shoes are smaller, truer things. Youre lazy. I know. At least you know that.

I love you. I love you, too.

(We

said more

things

but what

it is I cant remember, not here, where I am, at the weir, where I continue to be.

Where I continue. I while-wilt wait.)

That flower:

fruit-net. Flailing nigella. The pollens granulated foam disseminated itself across

Sallys fingers. She finger-foamed her cheek-belly. Palm-film. That flower: root-similar

petals


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netted. I rip-rutted that net, handed it toward Sally. Her smile ripped open. That

flower: fountain unfurling. Why is it, it textured like the skin on sitting milk in the

refrigerator, and it

a little engine of coolness in my hand, I love this flower?

The stupid engine

that it is,

my body

is a caption,

or

an explanation

to my mouth

I hate Sally said.

Performing, right?

Im right.

Get back on task. I said. Toe in grass: bubble-root. Bubbles: ruts

in water. We found another

water. New wet. That

water: purling-flower.

Purls: furl-similar. Furled-almost bubbles snapping. Current-ruts in water: wires. Dots:

swirl-dimples. Sheer purl emulsions. The pebble-net

beneath. Along with pebbles: nuts,

brown and wobbling along the bottom.

Currents collapsing into each other. Turtles snapped the surface of the water. Smell

of heat in water. Eyes collapsing

up the stream. I reached my fist-purse for Sally. No.


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5

The Argument

We meet Samuel. He forms & performs things. We follow him to his house, get there.

3

The path unpacked into clay

road beside newest stream. We were in clay

between first stream, newest,

reflection-almost stream. Rocks inserted in the clay.

Grass-lather lined the stream. Leaf-scales

on clay. Brindled-scales. Feet, weir, fear, need, I needed the weir, standing there, I

stood, need, weir from there. We need

cohesive-plan to get to the weir. Were lazy, I said. I say things sorrily, Sally said.

Pebbles: stream-knurls. Brindled-knurls.

Pebbles: stream-sequins. Pebble-sequence. Bottom swelled as pebbles lifted,

contracted as they flopped. The roam/room distinction: shoes

roam. Stream threaded heat up the mountain. Swamp-damp grasses in the eddies.

Mud rind. The roam/ room distinction: shoes like-near foot-rooms. The paths sporadic

moss-knurls.

Tannic flakes wagged in the stream. Soggy briar in a purl. On clay, toes search-

inserted foot-cloying heel-knurls. Clay scales. The congealed cloud of clay we walked on

swelled. The dependency/despondency distinction: is hardto talk

about. A house assembled

for our eyes, a lobe of dock

above stream. A mans feet wagged him

out of house.

as a wraith of myself, meandmyimageinmirror, or

the warped canvas of a river, a kind of a fountain of wrath, aquatic by any account,

Im the wet me, a type of gravity, that I cant stand, nevertheless enduring regurgitated

motions up, out, and down A-


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cross. Who

knows? said the man: Im Samuel.

I keep up with the news.

I know that.

How couldyou know that?

Are we near the weir?

Have we talked about crimes yet? No. I want to hear about the weir. The weir and the

crimes near the

crime, a whisper down the middle of me, gravity involved in this flash of exhalation,

collapsing up from the absolute bottom, up toward the green beginning, flaring with true

margins. Sputtering out. Where do you two come from?

We cant remember, I said.

We cant? Sally asked.

The city, disassembled for the summer Samuel began.

We dont go to the city, I said.

Whats that?

Dont know the city. Rain pieces,

wet orts for porous path, warped the clay. Clouds faint silt. Nacreous feet. The pearl-

imperfect surface of the water-dots in Sallys hair. Our mud-damp feet warped their

impressions into the clay. Samuel printed a follow-path in clay,

up porch. Around the house, the billbergias

robust lobes, bromellias serrated hair. Vreiseas

waxy flaps collated rain fragments. Wet knurls.


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7

The Argument

Samuel tells stories we dont understand, we ask him to take us to the weir. Sally disagrees.

We leave her.

4

That air: mist-sift. Air-flower. That air: newest, true-like. We drank

on porch. Gin in rain. Ice disassembled in the gin. I like small cups, when I taste the

glass, Sally said. The tables sunscreen-damaged wood,

the lotion-bruise. Sally wedged her spoon in gin: I feel completely elderly

when I think of every spoon Ive ever used: this newest, and truer spoon.

The rain assembled the stream. Streams tidal-file over smaller rocks.

I went to the weir on a trip, a lapse, the lining of a bubble:

I confessed things to the prairie,

cried in wheat,

because the vacation is, of course, really

a job, which, if my life is a flower, is more

like the stem in its anticipation,

the vacation like the roots building again,

turning, turning, and exploding into

gravity, which pushes us all forward

into the garden, tending to the clusterof days before us, a form of anticipation,

then deflating.

Wearing my favorite orange bathing suit to farm,

dropping out of school to care for my sick mother. Who knows

what has happened? Samuel said. The most moist cloth:

the stream. Back to the weir. I want to hear about the weir.

Forget about him, Sally said.

You forget about too much.

Let me take you to the weir, said Samuel.


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Tell me your weir-story.

No. Rain clustered in puddles on the porchs rim. Streams surface: knarled opal-

file. Nacreous puddles, beyond, in clay. Puddle: paths wet bruise. In the streams gouge, the

exposed esker. To, stepping on those nacreous rosettes of clay,

wet and revealed, not have shoes is the softer, more important relief. Im enamored of

knowing clay. And swallowing gin but nevermind

my effete rosettes

now bore me

I am myself

my big regret

said Sally. I said, Get back on task.

Wind lifted the wet. Raindrops tails: humid cords. Drops: ruts

in air. Sallys hairs drop-swallowed cloth: brown-cords,

dark-ruts. Clay-embossed

rocks drop-flensed, clay-skin. Splash from puddles: tossed lice.

You can take us to the weir, I said.

Ill tell about my weir-crime.

You will?

No.

The gleam of a hum. A bird? A bird-mouth-like source. The order of the odors: rain,

clay, grass, then the sand from the stream. Grass: sponge-berm.

We dont have to go, said Sally.

What, to the weir? I said.

Yes.

You dont want to go?

No.


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What?

(forget, I forget, it I forget

what I hear, at the weir, where I am, noise and voice, noise of the weir, noises off the

weir I continue to hear. Weir: where, to hear, I continue.)

That can never work, I said to Sally.

How it works well see when

it happens. Our things never work. The see-when sequence: image-portions of the

sky on drops in grass, then grass greening string-sponge. Pebbles inhabiting the stream:

city-many. Inhabiting: lands inhalation. We were pebbles on the porch. Well, then, see

you, I said to Sally. Lets go to the weir, I said to Samuel. Ok. Walkings

muscle-guzzle. Our pie-quiet walk-meal. Pebble-rod-noise: speaking spokes

probably. Probably. Probably.


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10

The Argument

We meet a woman. We will later find out her name is Molly. Samuel talks to Molly about

seduction. She doesnt understand. I get bitterly bored. I leave for Sally.

5

Walking, cloud-bruises on path, nacreous

knurls of path, walking, in the wind,

berm weltered, under sun, halation

at clay-bits rim, sun hatched, walking, still,

light flensed clouds off earth, light in

wet clay, wet-jettisoned worms on path,

cylindrical orts for bird-mouths, always,

berm-welter wilting under sun, still, always,

walking, air-emanation off the clay,

eyes on path, inward-forwardly, eyes,

inward relief, wet clay

relief, a gigantic air inflated

my torso-purse. Still. Clay breath. Samuels toes dipped portraits of themselves into

clay. My brain in sun: baffle-full. Ink-rut of green ferns. Stream: pour-riled. Me in sun:

baffle-pile. Wet air

sifted heat: in air, wet moved, and heat

moved in wet. Humid curls in air: water

hair. A woman half-embedded in tent

on path. She limb-weltered out of tent. Rails inflated the tent. Rail-riled tent fabric.

Light-rile

in grass: sun-origin-ed. She said,

Hello. Feet can

meet in

gravity. My

sayings in-

complete:

wet leaves

flaking

off feet


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in wind. Youre into feet. So am I.

Thats so weird. I said.

Im not interest-

ed in

feet. You were look-

ing at my foot.

Im sorry. Im

completely clay-dumb.

Thats true:

a foot

is in-

complete. Without

the other foot? I asked.

Without

the road. Hello in

the road. Howl:

in clay,

the woman curled hello. Nacre finger. The light in the gouge eye-riled her. Pebbles inthe stream: tile-roil. Purls rile-rind. Samuels fingers dribbled letters onto clay, his own

hello, joining at the zero in hello:

h

e

l

l

hello

The streamssheerness shift-sifted, fire-similar. Damp shift.

Samuels hair-puddle breeze-swayed. His lips

swayed wide: smile. Wind swayed his


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shirts cloth-shaft. Samuel said,

Inhabiting this garment as anticipation

of the grass, the sea, file-ing out to the New England

summer home within,

and starting there, the idea of the vacation, like a deflated balloon, a flaccid bathing

suit, takes effort or knowledge, exhalation into

relief,

salt and sand grist across the banister,

the popsicles slick in my throat,

snow cottoning windows:

a product of our perfectly

orthogonal orthography,

of our written dialogue qua the nativity of narrativity,

our stories could wobble between us.

Our stories about flowers could be pretty.

Our stories about flowers could be money,

and Id be enamored of your actuarial sciences,

your exotic banking,

to the woman.

Who

you are

is?

I tell stories, which, not really

a vacation, of course, this shore, this return, starting through the suburbs, going into

the heart, the fruition which takes knowledge, this day trip, not to a shore, perhaps, but to a

sea, this new way of doing things, exhilarated going into the sea.

The snow into the sea,white dissipating into green:

Ill write our ecumenical diary,

our all-inclusive confession. Ill masturbate into the flower.

Green hairs across the flower-tube.

An isopleth, a lighting rod between us,


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our story could bloom in organelles.

I am entirely forgetful of herself, like fences,

and am sustained by lushly-flavored flowers,

and you, my moist flaw.

Ill retain minerals in you; squiggle

fingers on your shoulder; discover

your arms, looking

for spores on your arms. Ill buy you lush CDs,

infer the color red from our sneezes.

Ill speak for you; eat instead of you.

Ill give you flowers.

Then give.

Samuel extracted a patch of ochre flowers: a billow of pebbles. Samuel passed the

nose-pillow to the woman. Scents swell in air: noise-similar. Pale purse of the womans

elbow. Me: Im going back to talk to Sally. The Daughters of Des Moines

heard our woes,

& echoed back our sighs.


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14

The Argument

I find Sally. We love each other, & leave. Probably.

6

Me a walk-fact. My hairs puff-tissue its heat, its sun-value. Wind sway-waded in

the

forest-tissue. Trees produced the forests tissue. Curling trees path-roof: pelt-welkin.

Wind on my heads follicle-fabric. Winds loll-cull. The lights

blanched reach.

Path: walk-shaft. Path: rut-cloyed. Ruts: lacks. Ruts

in path: rains trench-reach. Rut: cull-full. Down to the stream,

rut-tiers. Path: pearl-bridge. Ruts: gills.

Suns amber-amble. Suns ephemeral camera.

Samuels house amble-assembled

again on path.

Glances rumor-enamor. Sally?

Sally.

Im fine by myself, beside myself, I said.

Fine.

Do you feel sorry about me?

Youre sorry.

I say things sorely. We sat extendedly Taut water

suspended a stem . Behind the stem, waves extended, striating the pool. Verdurous

diaphane of the pool. Off grass,

green light. The lucent oxygen flushed my chest. Vigorous shifts of wind affected the

pools diaphane: it wrinkled. The meaning of the diaphane

was greenness. Vigorous verdure and vigorous vapor affected my chest. Pleasing

diaphane.


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Sallys vigorous joints, the elbows, shoulders, ankles, all, three joints in every toe,

and three in every finger, the flexibility between each flattened-marble vertebra, the sponge

between the ribs: I loved them all,

and her. I said: I love you.

What?

Have love for you.

Thats yours?

Yes.

Lets

go. Hand under her hot loof, generative of blood, so effortlessly natural, contained

inside its skin-roof. The atmosphere was luculent and sweetly rough inside my chest.


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16

The Argument

We walk upstream. Things happen to Molly, & we learn her name. Molly understands things.

We dream about leaving things

7

Toes in grass: pale foil.

Toes in grass: soft burrs. Clay beneath the water, pallid shallows.

Light on grass: berm-burn, earths lucarne, luculent verdure, earth spire.

On the path, my feets bare steering. Mile-similar.

Recurrent, constant water petal-ed

against a boulder: cinquefoil scatter. In pebbles pull and deposit, dots cloud-ed.

Pebble-freckles. Scales: solidified freckles. Freckle basin. The pebbles ochre orchard

bounced inside the stream.

Two lovers water-sequestered: Samuel held the woman in the stream. Her hair frayed

and gathered in the stream. Her lips fiber

wet, her hairs moist sinew, sturdy locks, ochre flowers

in it: Ophelia-paraphernalia. Samuels sinew frayed and gathered: lifted. His sinew

exuded shadows in creases. The womans weight pressed

the fiber of his forearm plump. The emanation, from her face, of colors: white cheek,

whiter teeth, pinkest tongue.

Two women in one day dead. Huh, said Sally.

Hello.

As dreams are sleeps seams, memories emanate

from, and inwardly cement the day,

each year a leaf-tuft, the fertile musk in which the presents stem extends down my

throat, the musky inhalation, that biological knot in my gut because the memorys

coincident with

rattle-sand, sallow foam

sorrow encoded in this ocean:

this death, this understanding,


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becomes a husk, an ampleness in

that it pulls, a motion

through, towards definition, which

is providence, the death

involved in providence, which

I cant stand on that

gravity and is scuzz

and if that death is like a belt,

the waist is like my life,

and the death the loosening

of the belt, of itself,

around my life, or living

is the loosening, and death

the buckle of the belt, the belt

unbuckled, falling, goofy

white thighs exposed, which

are dreaming, therefore a part of life,

falling, falling, tightening

Hello. How

are you

guys? said Samuel.

What happened to her? I said.

Life.

What?

An accident.

Shes dead?

No. We tried to make love on this boulder. The stream over-lubricated her buttocks.

We fell. She squashed her head on the boulder. I chipped my tooth on her chin. But shes

still

warm. Her hairs exquisite fiber filtered the cuts vinaceous crease. Black,

crystalline clump became-in-sun vitreous, crimson piece. I asked, What should we do?

Lets feed her cantaloupe. In Samuels hands,

the womans body creased in on itself, her lips to thighs. Samuels sinew creased up

berm. His odorous, aqueous


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emanation, sweat into wet clothes. From her tent, Samuel dislocated a cantaloupe.

Pieces emanated out from his knife:

but in the closet of my future behaviors the shoes concentrically arrive, exhilarate

me, pushing forward into the postures of the future but,

talk nearly to me, and we

could eat fruit sinew with mouths,

the narrow venues which subjoin

us to wide air, because a mouths

a syndetic circuit, so lets cultivate

electric syrups, honey dew, blue pines, wet pins, and crusted shocks, Im enamored of the

wet wobble which underpins all it, and you, my blue, unpinning moment. Syrup is story, or

syrup is honey, so it lolls in our mouths, a nexus of tastes and flecks, which you are, too.

What will

we do? said Samuel.

Whats her name? I asked.

Molly.

Her hair a wet nexus. In wind, her hairs unfixed

nexus. Purls purfled the stream. On her face, lips purple muzzle-purfle. Streams luculent

sinew. Light applied

plants to berm. The pleasure, the fruits and coffees modifying it, the light its flesh,

both filtered through my nerves, of an afternoon is now missed

by me. How long will we feed her fruit? Why doesnt she, crease-quiet, speak?

Im tired, tired, tired

said Sally. I displaced a piece of Mollys hair nexus, examined the crease the boulder

made. I said, Talk to her about stitches. Shell probably need some stitches.

Shell probably need to talk. Waves ear-wisp, ocean-mention.

We deeply know yourself, we deeply know your stuff, and with our seminal limp,

I walked in grass and roots,

and carried (a)water, (b)semen, (c)fluid lamps,


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which wobbled with my limp.

I walked in grass with feet.

The (a)semen, (b)lumber, (c)little lanterns tumbled,

their jostle-pattern nimble.

Ill find a path left incomplete,

a circle path, one that repeats,

redundant then, not incomplete.

Ill walk in grass until its late, but nevertheless Ill still be panting

on the porch, where

the walls a gravity, which, forming,

or a form of, relief, anticipates

the porch, or the porch of the

relief, before the relief of the

house. We need to find her

a house, said Samuel.

Your story-

facts

obfuscate:

these leaves

weave in

toes, said Molly.

You speak? I asked.

I spoke.

(We said more,

but what words

I cant remember, not here, where I am, at the weir, we are, where, we are where we

are.)

We spoke.

Samuel said, Its getting dark, lets go to sleep. In the bird-mouth, finch-

dimensions. Those aural condensations. Berms virid solid. Virescent corpuscles. The sound

of the stream: purely purls. We went to sleep.


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Ahead: Ulysses-abysses.

weir by jackson wills

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