—"mu" twenty-eighth part—

On Antiphon Island they lowered
the bar and we bent back. It
wasn't limbo we were in albeit
we limbo'd. Everywhere we
went we
limbo'd, legs bent, shoulder
blades grazing the dirt,
donned
andoumboulouous birth-shirts,
sweat salting the silence
we broke... Limbo'd so low we
fell and lay looking up at
the clouds, backs embraced by
the
ground and the ground a fallen
wall
we were ambushed by... Later we'd
sit, sipping the fig liqueur, beckoning
sleep, soon-come somnolence nowhere
come as yet. Where we were, not-
withstanding, wasn't there...

Where we
were was the hold of a ship we were
caught
in. Soaked wood kept us afloat... It
wasn't limbo we were in albeit we
limbo'd our way there. Where we
were was what we meant by "mu."
Where
we were was real, reminiscent
arrest we resisted, bodies briefly
had,
held on
to
•

"A Likkle Sonance" it said on the
record. A trickle of blood hung
overhead I heard it spurts. An
introvert trumpet run, trickle of
sound...
A trickle of water lit by the sun
I saw with an injured eye, captive
music ran our legs and we danced...
Knees
bent, asses all but on the floor, love's
bittersweet largesse... I wanted
trickle turned into flow, flood,
two made one by music, bodied
edge
gone up into air, aura, atmosphere
the garment we wore. We were on
a ship's deck dancing, drawn in a
dream
above hold... The world was ever after,
elsewhere.
Where we were they said likkle for little, lick
ran with trickle, weird what we took it
for... The world was ever after, elsewhere,
no
way where we were
was there