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Glenn Bach – 3 from: Atlas Peripatetic

Glenn Bach
3 from: Atlas Peripatetic
42

the flurry of birdsong and a whipping of marks
     that grow louder and more precise

     stronger and more exact
the invisible choir of throat and basin

with the gust of the song of the bird
     the choir of the throat of the bird

     the choir of birdthroat and beaks
camouflaged in the foliage

of ficus microcarpa     Indian Laurel Fig
     the flock of birds in proportion

     to the flurry songs of bird
to the troop of birds and the straw fire of song



75

     blind transfer
                   of air over the

                      spine     but first
                                  the vert stalls

 in the mini-
          air     grinding air

     on the extension
                       in the fish eye

                view of the stucco
                  wall ride you kick

        grab and grind
                50-50 in this

backside air     front-
                 side air     head

                    planted     ass planted
                      and transferred

               to wall ride stalled
                     bench

—it was a fluke
        the reverse hoop

                 in the alley     grinding
                                      plates to a toe-

            stop, the death
                    of a kiss—

two feet     one foot
       grab     stall     plant head

               bail      watch me
              hurt myself     not

                                     quite     but I love
                                         my helmet

                            and sometimes
                  the wheel bites back




121

bird very close
feathers forelimbs hollow bones
very close these beaks without teeth

brushing away particles
very close for the cloacal kiss
in less than a second

breath traveling in one direction
oxygen the same inside as out
these passerines

these song birds
these perching birds so close
I can touch them through the tangle of leaves

through the thicket of green
through the singing tree
through the warm blood

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