from No One’s Woman

TISSUE SAMPLE : PENELOPE

penelope waits waits for what

waits penelope? does calyp
so wait circe wait scylla 
charybdis sirens wait all 
all for one only: the one 
the other—different from all 
others wait for him do they 
really wait all wait that 
he comes that he goes that he 
stays and might be different 

penelope waits waits

he awaits he recounts he waits
for the moment that counts when
she has waited for him she
awaits him can he be an 
other he can come can go
can want or not can he 
leave himself and let them
wait let all the moments pass a
way forget stay away for

penelope waits, doesn’t wait

penelope weaves & unravels
has time claims it and gives 
it takes it her time she waits
doesn’t wait for some thing she 
separates is interwoven time 
something separated the bond 

between them & her alone a 
woven veil inscrutable is she free 
he can be freer

for him penelope does not wait

 

CIRCE

THE WHITES ARE COMING: a horde 
of heroes warrior-rape-murder-thugs: cattle
pigs twenty-two men on one woman & no 
boss to kowtow or bow to. They come from 
Troy from ten years of war from fear & on 
orders to conquer the foreigner (that’s me) 
Still they’re astonished I am incomparable
for them a case of doubt: WOMAN OR 
GODDESS nor do they think they know nor 
is fear strong as plunder-hunger and precious 
is the moment when truth’s suspended Your
amazement boys shall stay with you 
and lead to knowledge: GNÔTHI SEAUTÓN 
—you shall feel at ease at Circe’s released 
from language from fear from asking & 
responsibility for the game in which a life 
hangs on a comma Even the shadows chatter: 
the thread cleanly snapped. You will see. 
Hear Smell Taste One Flesh: Being Within 
Love Without You & without I & without dis
tinction You will be cared for thought of spoken 
for what you have done to the least of my
sisters you have done that to me & I will 
show you how to tear someone apart that’s 
something you boys know: let them out!
Here you can let go of yourselves & the ten
years shrunk to a point no more pain no more 
deathly fear no nightmare disgust no words 
for all that no time at the end of the story 
you will see: this is REAL HAPPINESS— 
pure presence in the dirt 

 

SIRENS

It’s said I’m “I am”: a sign
that sings and springs /heaven
and hell/ word asunder broken a
part my part concealed am I 
like him to him likened he who sees
not himself in the other the reified sign 
that means to interpret him to seem 
to him an answer what is in question what
he seeks to ask to fix it fixes him the 
incomprehensible before his eyes he 
hears it ringing it sings two-part twitter
ing twilight of woman & birds he
sees himself seen mirrored sung in
distinct double in one eye from high 
above in the other the other the same in
difference interference heard with bare 
ear a singsong of clang of echo 
penetrating the bound one bent 
on distinguishment what comes
from his hands has he given him
self over to the cutting ropes to his 
men of deaf ears the flesh of pains 
I see him I know the hurt to endure 
that choice the torment called “I”
& more than one am I am self-other 
THE (“Sirens” he calls it) I AM 
THE SAME AS I the foreign one
is my double a part of me she holds 
me I hold out for her I know my
self can let self go what holds 
is the distance I’d rather keep 
than fly on a tether: hero roped 
in words that dispossess the body 
the gesture binding the deception re
quires intention plugged ears that do
not trust the eyes trust his word what 
more does he want to hear & be 
than his own equal distinguished
as One among others master of speech 
he has the say over speaks & keeps 
silent about the singing ringing voices 
that spring from answer to answer 
he defines he divided I name my
self separate: Charybdis. Scylla

 

PENELOPE IN SNOW

I can no longer imagine a body for my body
I have forgotten you not that you left me 
and time that doesn’t pass is passing: 
body with its ingrained with its merged its mis
shapen its cysts myomas tumors clumps that 
flowed away coagulated into knots into calcium 
sclerosis chitin the hardware of the I-machine 
working toward final determination. I work toward 
it. I outsource—shroud that won’t be my 
shroud a death skin that keeps me alive the 
death skin the CHITIN dress the armor that doesn’t 
grow the text that word for word and night 
by night gets unsaid undone—erased by the 
countdown by the shuttle’s backward movement 
how forth to back becomes back to forth to un
true—the backward throw the unlinked chain 
I can connect nothing with nothing can make 
something nothing nothing into something threads 
pale threads span nothing for nothing & against
nothing night to night in palintropic harm
ony the skin become threadbare the age 
spots freckles. Nobody will come. And no 
day. I not-being will be. Become not-I with
the movement of the shuttle I go and
approaching zero, real value one half: I had a
man. I have a son who wants to be one
and to count and rule I am a half thing for him 
that he’d like to be rid of I am the only one 
among many suitors the cousin of 
Helen the bride price: I am no one
’s woman and No one will come. I 
freeze. It is cold is old is white it swirls whirls 
blows it is snow. It’s a falling that isn’t one
the world in suspension as if gravity were 
delicate hesitating and crystals of mist this 
stillness in his words’ dancing silence. Melting 
on skin my skin like prickling tears tiny stings 
numbing light light cold pale flake-words
that cover everything: a shroud and warms