CONJUNCTIONS:64, Natural Causes (Spring 2015)

And the Bow Shall Be in the Cloud
Michael Ives


routine hub-tones figure in a scatter
drum at a slight torque to religion
house of contrary jade
burning in the mountain’s phoneme
an event consists of a mirror and a
stork holding an egg upright in its bill
reinvents home







marble can make eyes pressed into
that serious weather of rocks
left scarred by their attractor
while our delicate veins forged in Jeta Forest
push a pavilion full of bulls
toward the flower’s center filters out
even distances want their now







when I take the coral reef out for a drive
whose tourist attraction smears into
birds falling out of the flight path
dint cost me a Jungian shadow
O anti-aging truck locked in reverse be the food
when I catch my bearing witness fucking a cache of knives
but only once







a lion drinks from the myth of the hammer
and the sky opens out into itself
another sacred pause in the sacred chaos
making stone / back in five
life isn’t your dad’s Texas
not that it matters
if the storm’s buried in a / in a frost of bones







to hear immortal birds
singing near the waterfall
a privilege of elite power
but they’ll tear you
from your throne of obsidian
like you were a vein in a mine
if you don’t die when they tell you







should certain forms of detachment
reflect a setting sun
with bone inlay at the eyes and dreams
but what did they see in their gaze
those people from a cloned before
gathering both in and near the appearances
the ones refitting the vision cog / ?







dark money influence at the think tank
a flux in the reconciliation
of polished granite and warning sirens
frames the entrance
to every merger
there is a season
gumming the tape head







as to using screw braces
to still a vibrating conversion riff
I’d go instead for a clutch reverser
behind the secondary water chimp
ack / ! / sorry / more mechanization
seems like an arbitrary solution
to what / ?







those crocodile-headed days
arranged in a sex-wreath
round the baby shower
their lives spent brooding
over the downed Blackhawk
if you’ve got wings
fly the hell out of there







surceases never wonder
but front a vibe syndicate
forging the absolute
in a diagram of phenomena
as still as constant motion
as overt as a hidden
non-dimension-less-ness







before an afterlife
it swaddled me in its frequency
many Hz above the sweep
of my previous life
the one before that become a stir of rags
around the ankles of another
I shall learn to hear in yet another







air dynasts take their meals
in a silence of three suns
embassage many months from home
yet the palace walls taper toward a war
visible under the viceroy’s half-opened robe
and the funerary urn at the inter-pulse
full of kingdom







under the sky horse at its zenith
dynasts reduced to sand
and fragrant wood
growing through the openwork
moon tethered over bridge
as from the search for a glazed jar
a system of highways emerges







and heaven looks once again like a shark attack
to the girl I want to be
when I’m exactly this distance from you
late grove of blossoms / one Jessica Savitch
tackling the problem of surface area
along an end-folded Villa Lobos bottle
twisting on its axis at the speed of sky







for an albatross has no need of time zones
as are the names of the letters
the vestal virgins of the names
afternoon a squirrel’s dark eye
opens onto the fippled conch of dawn
sluiced at soft diagonals
to your sense machine







the gradual opening of animal flesh
to a generalized tool power
over time reveals physical action
to have been an ur-robotics
in conspiracy with the speech of rooms
which flows without obstruction
through the walls of human speech







the head of the pope is a plot twist a portal
of Chartres is the stoma in a leaf a bestiary
a tunnel to the leopard’s banquet a year
the monocerous turning in its sleep symbol
an echo in front of its source blood
the youngest child of ocean Christ
a fold of drapery if







as soon as you’re sure the
it’s there hook into the
echo plex behind the
zero hour’s wizard I’ve seen the
invisible forms passing through the
my vision is exactly the
watching invisible forms pass through the







ask me how I know what’s in the tabernacle
salt the opposition’s morning
lube your inner Ibiza
pet it and breathe
tell her you haven’t been outside in a year
introduce fetters
appropriate the oceans







before we approach the glory
we dump the organs
before we void the plenty
we meat the air
posit the house / but burn the room
synthesize the manga load
de-tune the day







guilt cuff having deactivated itself
within Mangelsdorff range
where all the sidemen are named Lloyd
at a rate of three an hour
in observance of late privileges
given over to advents and infancies
but I was coming around from the other side







to explain how the original prayer
recaptured in a cold sophistication
had presaged the art of trench digging
into an impermanence forever
which to approach from below
thickens a vertical ocean of stone
and on it goes and







stacked schemes in the sense of
it comes flooding back to you
shards of a second Los Angeles
in desert with Moses and his silent hench
same as per the squeeze fix
draining from centers of questionable tension
all the old lymph







there’s trouble in the VX tower
crypto-synchronization of opaque speech / :
burning clay syndrome all over again
thus wishing 2 introduce
Repurposed Redaction of the Primary Telos
as if it were mounted
on small adjustable road trips







directly across the street
from a thinking such as haunts Her
here in the throat of anger
feeds Her children toward a covenant
of faux Ezekiels at the center of the storm
state pontoons will tilt
but the roof of malachite remains singular







to have pulled another “Sierra Club”
while She who authorized the naked pics
I had taken as a species of bath salts
afterwards compelled for the sake of the perceiver
to grind Her oblique garden
into an unregistered level
of unicorn







remarkable nonetheless for its ( )
will not broach queries having to do with ( )
flows yet wrestles itself into an ( )
adversary the better to disturb my ( )
whose blood sphinx tied to ( )
waits to catch when it falls from ( )
restless brilliance is killing ( )







or storm door into mood ox
uncertain as to weather
I’m still a standing member of society
sewed my wings back into
dank was their Sabbath
blind starting out toward what avails
appearances the gill in the being







back in the day when mothers were
moved backwards and forwards
over the harrowing cradles
by an endless chain of commands
issuing from the central shaft
when a snow-monkey wardrobe
made the presidents laugh







endless mille-feuille of monetized sleeving
one’s Mylar brainpan cradles the
performs a unification of
strip mall under morpho-
sex-o-tic cloudscape euphoria with
have you learned nothing / ?
endless gorgeous convexity of nothing / ?







its torso as permeable
and closed at either end with openings
their calendar day ran unnoticed
along the bottom of a master codex
truer than the tale it told
of standardized children and the Jones
for a flame-cooled orthodoxy







if astonishing sequences of fine movement
rippling across the planes of the face
means to possess a face
having fixed early on in its lineaments
enormous quantities of atmospheric anxiety
which to witness rescues the Other
from what His inherent Nixon deems







during a five-minute gene morph
should it wander toward the blurred edge
of the target algorithm
is often refed through several more molts
till override kicks in
and registers the work unit a fetus
and agrees to come home to it







intricate marks on the shell
taken for writing and whole kingdoms
of possibility referred to as music
or a language of tones reduces sound
to the merely legible creases in the palm
are signs to them who
rent out their sight to prophecy







could hardly be a more lucid account
total river as interplay of movement
and its inconceivable opposite
will not be described here
without provoking a disturbance
from a time-elapsed version of the same problem
captured in words







in eye contact with a state-run probe
-t’s why we chained the Doge to his pet Luther
and lit out for West Clench
across the night barrens
mules build their fires
but on the Morning of the Reciprocator
a shade refuses to be a shade







what appears
is an interiorized space mastering its effect
on an absentee perceiver
has enthroned those of us here at the entrance
waiting our whole lives to get in
we masters of all
we did not survey







and for these reasons He Smithed me out
with His womb transplants and nerve harps
and I was lost all over the place
juggling again with no hands
all the old pauses in His story
were a series of interlocking bleeds
were a shiv coda







and for this reason He black boxed the field of lambs
with His pressure holes and beheadings
and I was sub-jacked by His purist dynamic
like a particulate in a heat exchange
hold Him at False Church why don’t you
sure / wrap Him in a layer of math
in that throne grease of yours







He’ll just flush the heroic mode
with a method of heroic sleep
so as to elasticize the modulus of the aggressor
running all wounds through the proper channels
coordinating field adjustments with Langley
the asset is en route
His tongue is never out of your ear







another bone toss another racket another alone
another dire circumstance another head cage
another source of power another ink blossom
another crank buyout another valley in the distance
another dark aggregate another alien threat another map
another torrent another proverb another run-in
another somebody else another some other thing








beneath the multisyllable words meaning
they became bony animals
and the guts in question lying on a plate of zinc
to which Mengele attached the conducting wire
are forces which shall give rise to enormous carved heads
memorials to the mystery of ant peoples
who tear up their floors to preserve their shoes







powerless / making an improbable passage
across a wilderness of voter IDs
home to “Florida” and certain syncopated slogans
where as soon as the germ vector
differs from standard frictions
in that it’s a color
stuffing flailing things in ships







during those hotly disturbed few hours
that are my history of lust
shaking free its paralysis
in submission to the fathers of paralysis
yet with a thick wall of oil behind them
from which His iconic face shall surface
“I” is the NRA







whose nerve god transmits His message
along a rebus of product placements
in His film of my life
whose thirst ran away from His quench
and this made the water
and the moment free of its history
and the life of the world to come




Michael Ives’s books include The External Combustion Engine (Futurepoem) and Wavetable (Dr. Cicero Books). He teaches at Bard College.