Where Are You
taped-off
crime scene
body language
blacklight
traced
in the pupil
bodyprint
sucked
to a point
I sniff it
like a relic shroud
I sniff it like the dog I am
where are you, she said
from down the cone hall
from inside my cone hat
watching me swim
in pools
of wool
I itch,
a basement
in each shoulder
wherein
shine
spinning spoked wheels
and a nimbus sags
over the pleated
light
along the nipple’s
edge of
doctored footage
the video art
of Houdini’s ghost
in seven parts
witch telling fortunes with butts in the ashtray
little lamb in downy green
slanting mouth in slanting hall
ending
at the point
of nearest sight
the mind’s
pet
a liquid wall
it plays
disappears
some place
unwitnessed
ashtread
slow-motion tape
frame by
ill lit
frame
like chakras
clenching
eye screws
or chalklines
mouthing
rainbled psalms
Dustin Cole is the author of the novel Notice (Nightwood Editions) and the poetry chapbook Dream Peripheries (General Delivery). He has also contributed writing to Apocalypse Confidential, Maximus Magazine, BC BookWorld, Heavy Feather Review and the British Columbia Review.
Illustration by Adam Lehrer