[From] the christ hairnet fish library
by Sara Lefsyk

I WAS OUT WAY OUT past my bedtime.
Heidegger swore he didn’t sell my cash. He said
“i go into and out of this supermarket whenever i
want,” then tossed the fish onto the planes.

Someone has to tear my body from its body.

The surgeon took me to the amphitheatre then
rubbed my parts. This made absolutely no
difference.

When his eyes are closed and no one is looking,
Heidegger’s case worker touches my breasts and
says I’m some good factory.

I like it best in the cathedral when we fill my
body with nitrogen. I like this kind of nitrogen
when we fill my body with cathedral and my
body is nowhere.

I like it when the dr. takes his time with me, but
the son has philosophical hands and all i want is
to draw circles around his footsteps.

HEIDEGGER WAS DOING his feelings-
through-the-wall thing, i could see him let-me-
tell-you! “I know this earth rotates.” I
remember his voice like a slow-motion-film.

I remember the discount-pill-pharmacy.

All i wanted was a gyroscope in my peripheral.
The son took me to the industrial-park then
touched my parts. My dress was a torrent
anyone’s sister will tell you.

No one lives anywhere for free.

I took up my weapons and called it an afternoon.
Under the eaves of the hospital, the son took my
precious precious then dragged me through the
fresh fruit market.

All i wanted was for the cartographer to scratch
my veins. “I like it best in the cathedral when
we fill my body with nitrogen.” Like this we
entered many summers as intellectuals

but my sisters all jumped the circuit and hit up
mad republicans. All i want is for a humming
sound and to have an international virus.

Can i get a listing?

HEIDEGGER TOUCHES MY OCEAN with
his voice, “i put the bill in yur name,” but i only
have a small amount of ether and the dr. x-rays
my uterus until i bleed out.

Still, the son puts his fingers all up in me and
tries to pull out what’s his.

It’s important to let the son gain everything.

I try to explain that i don’t have a nervous
disorder, but dr. continuously fills my veins with
yellow liquid until i pass out and come to again.

“One can never be too sure.”

Part of my body is in vain and the other part is
everywhere. If i say “i put the bill in yur name,”
i mean i walked through the ether and came out
floating through a slow-motion-film.

IF I WERE A WIFE and a mother i would be a
wife and a mother. All my children say “build
me,” but the son takes my pelvis and runs it
through the supermarket.

I go into and out of this supermarket whenever i
want

and because letters form my name, the dr.
releases me onto my raft endlessly. Heidegger
sheds his pennies into my ocean, but my sisters
all take up arms and our bodies are really only
something we have read about in dreams.

“Insanity is a word reminiscent of your eyes,”
says the son, then he slaps my face as if i were
his wife

or his mother.

I’M ALIVE IN THE TINY COLONY of
sisters but i refuse to wake up among them. I
refuse language and bite the dr.’s fingers
repeatedly. I bite his lip and, because they found
my brilliance in some woman’s apartment, i
open the drawers of my body.

Heidegger kneels over me and because i am
everywhere he takes my sternum and writes his
sermon over it.

The son has dowsing rods and all my sisters are
hungry, but the angles of the planets mean
nothing is worth happening.

Heidegger swoons impossibly--a fish over the
planes--and it’s not even Sabbath, but the dr.
takes our light bulbs and makes us stare into the
dark endlessly.