Killing Spree: Jorie Graham

THEN

Then the full

moon rose

& filled the

windows

and I put my arm

around you

as you slept

& I slept

alongside you

for a while.

All around us the world.

And in it us

neither large nor

small. This

is the poem

where the moonlight

will whiten everything & I

will let go

of the world

as it was

once. It was probably

never that way

I will think,

but its cage

wasn’t visible then

& we thought we were

free, we thought

there was history

in the world—

but it was an

illusion, wasn’t it, it

must have been,

because otherwise how

could it have

disappeared

so suddenly.

But the whiteness

is whitening the panes

beyond us

ever brighter

as you sleep,

& your sleep, yr kind

sleep says no, no,

it is all true here

in the poem,

says I won’t tell you

there’s freedom

anywhere

but look

at what you hold

in your arms

for free

as the moon

rises

over the fields

without us,

as it rises in the eyes

of all the watchers

in their dens

on their

branches in the hollows of

what were once

the sun-warmed furrows

farmers cut

into the earth

when there were farmers.

WHEN THE WORLD ENDED

everyone woke up.

It was a gorgeous sunny day.

The lists with our names on them were laid out in the light.

Someone straightened the pile.

Are they complete I heard a voice ask

though it was awfully far away from the beautiful

day. Which was a masterpiece. Something’s apogee. A hegemon, a crystallization—

a gigantic re-beginning. We will all be trans-

formed I heard myself

think. The millions of years of prehistory

hummed. They look artificial in this newfangled

light—all its techniques of solicitation, attraction, solidification

throwing themselves wildly at the stunned

archaic. It stared back. It’s rocky and does not

expand. It’s earthy. It will take your gaze into its

mastery. I

love it. I want to wake up

her. Please. I hadn’t said the word in centuries. Be still. Your social credits

are being calculated

as it watches.

I want to touch it. I’ve never seen such solidity. That must be

what a heart feels like. But the lights laugh all over it and it almost dis-

appears. Do not deplete me. Do not empty me. I want to be

more than a proceeding. Do not calculate me. Innumerable shadings

shiver. I touch my larynx. We were not

to speak. Avoid facial expressions while being

assessed. Do not accidentally

express

yourself. Remember. Stay private. Can you do this?

Analysis of the smile is particularly important. Do not. They try to ensure the

smile threshold is triggered. Do not.

During this same moment knowledge will be

produced. It will mass up in you, quickening, organizing. Do not.

It maximises addictiveness. To happiness. I feel it. Do not.

It is scanning your iris. I beg you do not think. Let the years float. Abandon

memory. I am your friend. I want you to survive. The penetration. The

examination. Estrange. Don’t look, don’t see. But the clouds. Leave it

unquestioned. Are we at the end. Is there still basic want and

need. Shall I leave it. Leave it. Shall I turn, shall I be

entertained. What is it that is saying I am here to stay. What is it keeps

saying that,

is it an unfinished speaker, or just a speaking. An existing

thing? Provisional? Yes. Remain

provisional. Don’t

commit. Don’t

participate. Do the face to face but avoid encounter. Don’t transmit

words. Don’t engage in

communication. But what is this kind of meeting, then.

We are all breathing here together, are we not?

We are all leaking our in-

formation, our attentiveness. I do not want to look

away, I want to promise, I will be

saturated, here is my open eye for you, I will en-

counter you, I will rub the personal surface, I will skim it. Oh it is

frictionless. I will be yr

user. Connect with me. How many things can we pay attention to at

once. How many. Track me. Track my

proclivities. Harvest me. My gaze is my gift. I give it, I give to you

freely. I

scrutinize.

What are you drawn to.

What are you drawn to.

I want to feel autonomous. I will pay u

attention. I will

feel free. I will

feel free.

Track me.

This week's poems are by Jorie Graham, author of Killing Spree, which is published this month! Get 15% off Killing Spree with code MAYBOOKS15 here.