the movement (n.): 1) how can one start except to say that we could still be marching or to say that we were buzzing that there was this we or could still be or could be and that in this yawning moment everything and the electric body of allofus approaching, collapsing into; (2) i open my mouth and your voices are howling through, you cast my limbs across the lightning air, pulsing through, you could still release the clench of my hands, fifteen feet from here another bank window crumples into shards and recrystalizes, a sheer wall of grief there to be broken again, we crumple into our shards blinking and flickering on the harsh grey of the ground; 3) what is–a seed falls from your lips–this feeling–and lands on the grey earth; (4) the empty weight of lungs when no one else is breathing through you
the individual (n.): (1) your lethargic months, your aftermath. lying on the floor of your lovers living room, how every time. how you stop. moving. how every time you. lying flat on your back. shoulders sinking into gaze. falling past the razed landscape of the ceiling. through the apartment above you. through the attic and the pattering sounds, the small ceiling mammals. through dry arms, the lightning tree. murmurings draped like strings at the fractured corners of your vision. when the house is all hum and feigning silence; (2) the grey steel of the nothing sky, dragging yourself along behind, the body streaming; (3) you, bleeding from the ear. you, pressed to the concrete. you, followed home daily. you, and all these yous. you, constrained by sentences. you, bending under the totality of the state. you, with your single rubber pencil, your name, your number. you, with your longing. your fine tooth comb. bends, and breaks.
the movement (v.): (1) if to still be rounding this corner, if to blink and the city shifts and we finding ourselves instead on a stairwell, a thousand in our body, a thousand and the forward thrill of we, some still hefting wooden chairs, stiff legs sprawling upward, some we dragging the couch behind us, and some we rushing to lift it up and over the lip; (2) to crowd the armrail, crowd the poolside, crowd the plaza, we pushing or pulling tables in the constant uphill current, up into the fresh green grass of this accidental departure, up into this artificially lush landscape, up we still processing, up as brass band blaring out this rage, we still bursting through the borders of this rage into every dry and unused building, as if every dry exhausted one of us could be filled; (3) to empty the home of the things once held dear, old letters and photographs, tired symbols of the past, before these too will have been taken from us; (4) gutted sofas on every streetcorner, we tear the slit wider, climbing inside, our cotton spilling outward from these eyes, this throat; (5) to arrive back home exhausted and slump into pillows still dressed, despite the stain of o-chloro benzal malo no nitrile still burning on our breath.
the individual (n.): (1) in jail they asked you to remove your breasts. because you were powerless. you puckered your lips at them and winked. and pushed the soft mass together squeezing hard before relenting. taking first one and then the other and dropping them into the sterile plastic bag. with your keys, your drumsticks, your i.d., as their hands found the shape of your thighs, found the shape between your thighs, or between your distant glare and the tensing of your thighs; (2) you, who wanted all the messy signifiers of gender and i who only wished to be rid of them; (3) our bodies pushed into narrow aluminum shelves, you and other yous shelved on the left and i roughly wedged into the shelf on the right. this body barely fit, though there were many with and inside you there on the right and here this body into wracked odd angles; (4) the ways in which we were already separated; (5) from the inside of the ear’s soft lips, i could still have been bleeding; (6) the tapping of your many bodies, your knees and hands, your foreheads and heels, against the thin metal sheet as if to splitting this van open. as if to fill all the cavities left by jutting limbs against the frame, the armpits, crooks of elbows, beneath the chin, between the forking thighs, the sound of your knocking; (7) hollow thud of a body thick with gravity against the ground. the whole weight of a knee against the back of the heart. the dense packed body behind it. crushing the ribs and the whiteness that blinds and the dark.