pier_wooden_lake_ocean_sea_quiet_fog_calm-1096270

 

NoOne

 

 

 

So we [poet + reader] thought some badness was coming
to take away our dreams: leave us without light,
leave us with our darkness. We wanted to exhibit our
dreams even though dreams are archetypes + boring
and it is so invasive when we tell others they have made
cameo in our night-visions: this assures the other
we wish to possess them in a room their body cannot
enter.

Reader, I have been dreaming of you.

NoOne knows where to end this

poem.

A week ago in my hometown
and A.B. has returned, here
we are in some new bar with 3 girls
I don’t know and they have all gone
to the same New Orleans psychic
on A.B.’s advice and known their future
for 1 year. I am A.B.’s only visitor who
declined. Only I knew nothing this last year because I thought everything was

obvious.

psychic|psykhikos

from the Greek
as in
Psyche
spirit of the soul or mind
girl spirit of wind

or, departed ghost
represented as a moth

IE. animus or the outline of the animal
IE, light or lingerer of light

 

A few bright walls which led to tables in rooms with no doors in which one is altered. I have loved, I have loved

I have loved the wall|I could not turn back
I have loved the wall|not anyone but the ordered man is there
I have loved the wall|not another could experience it
I have loved the wall|lnot any-other could be the same after

Almost every fairystory is a story
about how a child learns to be lost
in the woods and almost every fairypoem is a poem
about what the trees tasted like and this one
is not different. Lots
of starving and descriptions of edible
light spun from a spindle in a prism
with no key also the mouths
appear as locks and jams
are hungry and if anyone, anyone around here can keep her voice from expiry

I’ll admire.

Also, this is a poem about a place
not a person                 breadcrumbs for myself, not
the forest

              Also, in the middle of Lake Pontchartrain A.B. announces

we might not have enough gas to cross back in
no shore in sight, either side

                       I see that NoOne bears witness for the space between the spaces,

for the life between

 I see if I am also to be alive
I will live within the line of the cross
I will become this boundary-line’s tailor-baroness
I will return covered in a sequined-caul,

I will allow my skin to fall

I see a bright wall

I will I will grind my dreams
I will invite you there,

 

 

 

 

                                    history knows the dress

 

 

 

**[                                            ]**

 

 

 

 

 

Speak your odd offer or the spell
can’t craft. Lots of this NoOne wants.
A triple-wound friendship
bracelet; waking up to
dreams that float the same
aura; kids in the grocery assaulting the
woman’s hand:
A twice-timed tap:
unlike/like us. This resists the                         German.
Then submits. We want to go home
now, but we signed those papers. Ah.

Ahh.
This [life] is so tongue depressor!

                                                      I am ready to

                                                                             talk now,

                                                                                                           Doctor.

 

            NoOne wants to hear

 

what I have to say.

It is [   ] ago. I’ve been meeting death in my dreams. Dream-death screams and I insult it with sleep, but tonight dream-death shakes the bed and drops the alarm. Dream-death upsets the dry-wall and it takes a legion of oblivion to stay alive to sleep.        Stop!
You’re going to—

 

            9-1-1 hangs up without admitting
if they are arriving

           screaming stops

  a woman:
What’s your name, Ma’am?

Why did that bother you, Candie?

            I was the only piece which
didn’t
matter.

 

 

                                                                                                           Doctor,

Once I was over-tired and witnessed a thing I didn’t intend and this is why the only whip I wield always hovers over nude sleeplessness and when I sat up with my back the wall of the industrial apartment in [           ] and held the only vigil of my adultness I understood how it is hard to remain inside

                                                                                                                    a body.

 

All moving meditation
All a border is defined by is definition
All night long and an officer never knocks
All I know is I am cut from narrative

 

IE, right before my skin falls off:

 

I’m in a ghost town that will make me understand pieces of an experience about to happen to America I won’t be able to explain. I’ll say that I saw a space where people tried to live:

I only knew I was there because the railroad tunnel stands still and reads: Moonville.

 

Black moths with lavender wings and I get one photo of one before the camera stops. When I leave it re-starts. I writhe and wonder how what I document matters.

IE, right before my skin falls off:

I don’t remember kid-life, I only remember doing acts adults didn’t see and acts I never mention. Riding a bicycle in a hoop around the block thinking about my best-friend E— inside her house who would die soon and not going in her house or in mine or down the no outlet alley only going in a hoop in the street until dark and when my dad asks: nothing.

 

           Because I was the only piece which

didn’t
matter.

 

Doctor—to answer a question on your questionnaire:

 

A person I admire: my grandfather.
He insists
on himself.
A person I admire: my grandfather.
He remembers
every human’s name.

 

My grandfather used stories.
My grandfather mostly uses this one now.
My grandfather is asking me about poetry, again.
My grandfather is about to use the story.
My grandfather uses another story:

In Chicago he was red-tailed. He would get up at midnight and drive around the city to give the officers something.

My grandfather uses the story:

In the border his commanding officer sights a Russian and the troop unloads to stare. The Russian waves: Hello, in English. My grandfather waves back. He receives a month penalty for fraternizing with the enemy. After that, he asks why he is fighting at a weekly meeting and receives more. The story always ends with: the enemy was friendlier than the army. I didn’t know why I was there, and not any one would tell me.

My grandfather only tells me one time that he leaves on a plane, returns on a ship.
My grandfather only tells me one time about the gas.

 

Doctor, you

are not taking notes.

            Doctor

                        I hope all this is clear

                                                            enough.

I love to be so clear

                   birds

                             fly into me

                                    and break their necks.

So clearly,

I meant if I name a place I can                                       return

oh no

I meant if I name a disease I can

cure it

oh no

I meant if I name history’s limits I can

be alive.

 

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Candice Wuehle is the author of the full-length collection BOUND (Inside the Castle Press, August 2018) and the chapbooks VIBE CHECK (Garden-door Press, 2017), EARTH*AIR*FIRE*WATER*ÆTHER (Grey Books Press, 2015) and curse words: a guide in 19 steps for aspiring transmographs, (Dancing Girl Press, 2014). She is originally from Iowa City, Iowa and is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Candice currently resides in Lawrence, Kansas where she is a Chancellor’s Fellow at The University of Kansas.

 

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