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The Saturnine

By Forrest Armstrong

Remedy my soul:
When two blank canvases stand dissentient
Spitting oil paints onto each other’s skin
And wishing they had hands to shape their
Expressions, you form crystalline footsteps
In the sky. I was born with capacity for
Supreme love and its opponent
And all that constitutes my abstractions is
The tension of waves in space
What aqueous planet was I born under
That gives me such dismal insurgence?
And what chemical has fallen out of the
Structure, that the Daliesque crutch imposed
Takes the shape of reverberations in air,
The liquid pill of a vibrating string,
The substance intangible and translucent
As glass and just as delicate?
When shards gash flesh I inhale for the
First time and exhale into sharper color
I feel the connect flowing in and out of me –
I want to feel your moves – I want to
Harbor a trembling heart, I want
My veins to shake until they worm
Through the skin, until my body becomes an
Abstraction, spirals of flesh and tissue
Eyes spinning disconnected in the sockets
In spite of compressing myself, downsizing
To a speck of dust and floating from faded
Dandelion to faded dandelion, I will
Inject myself with your essence
And all that you are.