SurVision Magazine / Roberto Harrison

shredded with others

i am a casualty in the last war
of the wind. i once belonged to the wires
and i move the others to join me in the first
ocean of death. the center is cut by yesterday's
tapirs as they stretch to pull the leaves
from the city where i wave the others on.
someone launches the sticks of the night
as they pile themselves up for the fire.
peyote songs light up the sound
fused with the moon and the signals
from the earth offered
through the door. the stones ask what
atrium they make and which animals
hold us in life. i find no
way to reject the sun. i
follow the color of the street
to unravel my Y dimensional Host
and open the wound of the light
again. the animals cannot
find me among the vacancies. in our
fourth life a father is destroyed
by the fear of the trees and in a seventh
life I do not stand for myself in meaning,
except as a wandering exit. if there is
a way to grow past the mountain then i
must find the line past the imposter
as i as they end cruelties in the heat.
my voice unravels like the grasses
and only the willows know if friendship
brings me another origin. but these languages
are remote. and the ways of this part of the earth
are muddy and the sky arrives only to speak
in the numbers of my infestation
through the roots of my decrepit wilderness
in a silence that will not count

ash recollections

it sends me the light
from the absolving winter
where the moon

inhabits the ant's
dire and speculative
wombs, where

the intention of numbers
sends links to the folded
eclipse of each morning

and sings. the opposable
noon by the Sea
marks the days

with luminous trees
and dissolves to unwind
each face from electric

display. from the lower
meaning of the chemical
void, explosions

from exterior vision
cut through iconic
trails of pus

on the tables. i as they walk
on Mitchell Street
where the exit to fire

through the mountains
of Coclé repair, where the snakes
make my egg of Mabila

drum dream

where was my race
when the ashes were made
and i burned red
to be one in black?
now the empty sign of the saviors
makes me room to breathe
in a feathered light. the bow
of refuge strengthens
the deer of my body
and i sing with Panamá
as my home in the darkness. other
songs make it to my dreams,
the drum pulls the lights together
with the revealing names
of the rocks. i listen to the fish
and hear the guitar lead decay
in another long song. the quiet
hears my mute bodies
as we collapse again
with the drum. they know
as i have seen my pages
meet them in the circle
as they teach me the songs
of survival and the electric
escapes. i sing
with them past apocalypse
to be known
by their animas
invisible
in the invisible
woodland
as i migrate
through seven
and reside
as an ash of the braided earth
absolute as separation

Roberto Harrison is the author of Os (subpress, 2006), Counter Daemons (Litmus Press, 2006), bicycle (Noemi Press, 2015), culebra (Green Lantern Press, 2016), Bridge of the World (Litmus, forthcoming 2017), Yaviza (Atelos, forthcoming 2017), as well as of many chapbooks. He is also a visual artist. He lives in Milwaukee with his wife Brenda Cárdenas.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue One ROBERTO HARRISON shredded with others i am a casualty in the last war of the wind. i once belonged to the wires and i move the others to join me in the first ocean of death. the center is cut by yesterday's tapirs as they stretch to pull the leaves from the city where i wave the others on. someone launches the sticks of the night as they pile themselves up for the fire. peyote songs light up the sound fused with the moon and the signals from the earth offered through the door. the stones ask what atrium they make and which animals hold us in life. i find no way to reject the sun. i follow the color of the street to unravel my Y dimensional Host and open the wound of the light again. the animals cannot find me among the vacancies. in our fourth life a father is destroyed by the fear of the trees and in a seventh life I do not stand for myself in meaning, except as a wandering exit. if there is a way to grow past the mountain then i must find the line past the imposter as i as they end cruelties in the heat. my voice unravels like the grasses and only the willows know if friendship brings me another origin. but these languages are remote. and the ways of this part of the earth are muddy and the sky arrives only to speak in the numbers of my infestation through the roots of my decrepit wilderness in a silence that will not count ash recollections it sends me the light from the absolving winter where the moon inhabits the ant's dire and speculative wombs, where the intention of numbers sends links to the folded eclipse of each morning and sings. the opposable noon by the Sea marks the days with luminous trees and dissolves to unwind each face from electric display. from the lower meaning of the chemical void, explosions from exterior vision cut through iconic trails of pus on the tables. i as they walk on Mitchell Street where the exit to fire through the mountains of Coclé repair, where the snakes make my egg of Mabila drum dream where was my race when the ashes were made and i burned red to be one in black? now the empty sign of the saviors makes me room to breathe in a feathered light. the bow of refuge strengthens the deer of my body and i sing with Panamá as my home in the darkness. other songs make it to my dreams, the drum pulls the lights together with the revealing names of the rocks. i listen to the fish and hear the guitar lead decay in another long song. the quiet hears my mute bodies as we collapse again with the drum. they know as i have seen my pages meet them in the circle as they teach me the songs of survival and the electric escapes. i sing with them past apocalypse to be known by their animas invisible in the invisible woodland as i migrate through seven and reside as an ash of the braided earth absolute as separation Roberto Harrison is the author of Os (subpress, 2006), Counter Daemons (Litmus Press, 2006), bicycle (Noemi Press, 2015), culebra (Green Lantern Press, 2016), Bridge of the World (Litmus, forthcoming 2017), Yaviza (Atelos, forthcoming 2017), as well as of many chapbooks. He is also a visual artist. He lives in Milwaukee with his wife Brenda Cárdenas.
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