Full Foreground - Roberto Tejada

I am a concept after the natural end of two objects
I am the failed practice of self-rule a resource
Bent back more severely than the other moderns
Resonate or dog in minds away from their masters

I am pornography a person not effaced
Or expressive of a single mood the arbiter
Of no one change brought about in relation
When mother to daughter is as pressure inside

The sorrowsong event ot museum piece implausible
I am relevant to the material breech as weapons of
Destruction are to the symptoms of my tongue and throat
So united in a row as to stay the execution for a week

.::
What it means to read Egyptian sailors voyage
to Byblos, the search for cedar wood in light
of manned explorations of space,
forthcoming places in which to raise the standard,
what I want from my enemies, the egg and bone,
the fingers burning when you get there.
But you fail in the process
at a velocity concomitant  with the stuff and landscape
in front of you, overwhelmed by the lush pattern
around the slant horizon,
the distrust they claimed with regard
to language, the paradigm a spiral or side-long,
fretted angle always finite in a seemingly perpetual
clangorous tangle of immediate
meaning and whereabouts
on the tongue by which the acid bitter
sweet and savory
surround of the lace-sutured
writing and the force of the hand, or intrusions
like the telephone. This first wall
bears no fissure over the entry and habitual sameness
of address, not the violence
of home help me over the repeated
phrases of childhood
in slogans of television and radio
as per the language of Hollywood
and the roman catholic church
where time elapsed was a ray
beam the head now hovering
over thick air and feet
oblivious to the act of displacement
by which they may be said to exist.
Pull my arms then in opposite directions,
our lips wet now in the most
public of places, the isotonic pulse
and water lapped from flesh
to flesh, pulled
back to sway the thread
still joining mouth to skin,
then lifted from the fell
of it now tait, gasping,
inserted likewise, in arms, a slight
push to the next figure, legs
suspended and half-turned waist,
just the slight hairs
and slush full tongue over whose
agile hands and ass spread,
his shaft to navel,
tight grin a transparent
edge between laughter
and coming to the rip of too
much light when lips
at decisive points along
the exhausted places of repose.

.::
by what authority - as in the swollen
rhetoric of exactly whose enabling self


- am I next to you gross paper
effigy when we wake to the sober


play of aimless bodies like and unlike
razor burn in drawl and daybreak


now near the south tower, or when
at the sound of this tone how a new


regimen of clipped tap and long
notes pressed against our wet embassy


trickled shoulder length in the tight
hush of what we know about


the difference between recessive
face when pleasure sours


and the sore repetition of a song

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Full Foreground - THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA PRESS (c) 2012 Roberto Tejada