Tiresias as Cuir (on the run)

Dog. The time you take home, the time you take away from home.

The insistence, the instance worried at with your thick tongue.

Stink. Because of what you found on the ground and put in your gut.

Harry. As in beset, or beast. To beast on their terms, their territory.

Gut knotted, pulled and twined to an internal clock.

Drape over the occasion, sleep on the mat at the metre’s foot.

ii.

Cuir poetics or not, monolingual, but your poets are. Cure misery

not confined to the nation-state, but spread by road trip, hash, tragic opera.

Idle vials can be convincingly propped to suit the man you want

to be, or issue forward “the food that always remains” esteemed.

Cuir milieu you want to tableau. An apology for discovery, accident.

Scales already weighted, reviews in stone long buried time.

Mainstreaming “long buried time” sleeps draped in prophesy.

Root as per root. Ocean as per root. Sleep as per root.

iii.

On the couch. At the urinal. A woman, a race with a use value

For the revolution. For the dead. For women like me.

When the ocean is rooted, one criticizes, less guilty

Parting documentaries as love letters, cursive, sans serif.

Without documents, cur poetics root for, if not abstinence

Then the mainstreaming of prophesy and the dispute of Tiresias.

Part ocean, part dog, and nine parts of the nation state

A wight kills for pleasure and gold and land and slaves.

Tiresias was a wight and not a wight, queer speech

trafficking like vector surveillance, vile night unending.

iv.

The simplest equations are subtraction.

A “dog never loses its savour.” Arab slavers.

Fawn smear from the mouth, eye sockets

Tell me about your history, the one to come.

Who invents virtues? Riddles? Laqueur races home.