Tag Archives: Kate Schapira

KATE SCHAPIRA- FRAGMENTS

Fragment (the sleeping partner)

incised like pieces of time not to touch but to always know

the sound of someone a tractor mowing the field to bristle to cut the kids’ feet tomorrow

yet they run it out make it every

crux a road another road where cells grow frantic drop their proteins run and yet once spread out blankets shook out in the sun

no limit to the room of sleep its volume a boundless continuous basin and bellow

*

Fragment (the waking partner)

The list of strange
cases includes
me and should include you.
I’m a spring that sticks.
A waving palm. When
you’re making your beautiful
breathing arrangements there’s
one step I want
you to keep for me,
you pearl of need,
you superb embarassment.

*

Fragment (the sleeping partner)

who does the obligation love the hot wind lick what does it howl on the plain

flood of animal drawings to adorn a flood of t-shirts to wear in caves to warm and

swaddle the A/C icicle high

clouds excite a feeling of nature in the cavity

how to know something’s been torn out more than a line trying to eke out the flood

pillage and relish a loose skin shaped like a tiny boat before it’s stretched under a frame

undo a mooring of water no expanse will drain where it ends is worse

*

Fragment (the waking partner)

I cut no slack to lack.
My cares can grow
sacrally, fitfully,
threshing effort, indefinitely.
Look at the rank money
under new medicine.
Look beyond. Tender
sprouts. Liquid
manure before the throat.
I wait for you.
I brought you terms.
You refused to love them.
Don’t cry before
you’re hurt. Your
roar, the road down
into you cries
out on the bare offer.

*

Fragment (the sleeping partner)

on the face of the waters all ducts gush old tears of ruin and hot metal flaring

are they most noble must they become a giant of strategy bestriding

no no high among the milkweeds caught infiltrating in unison said it’d be all right

parted from the past lives department by a three-strand fence

of incalculable menace the rigor bells ring all bedside

all the hollow-eyed night-tide the fear and care of raising

(from The Duration, a manuscript in progress about living simultaneously in the present, a future that exists, and a future that does not)
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