FRANÇOIS LUONG

THIS

1

this of you as

it is rewritten or said

for you as face

now the word place

not for street on the hill

not for bell tower

behind branches at night

but for moment of encounter

these words are not meant

to take shape

our gaze reads the skin

of your face as page

with the word violence

and the word desire

now the hand stutters

and surrenders

2

this which we

make ourselves to share

the fire escape

and the iron railing

an i or an l on

the brick wall

on the other side

inside a painted word

half-erased

standing still these

things we must do

the broken letter above

the city and its encounters

our hands stand for want

3

this half-line

with no point of departure

expanding & retracting

as ditches & digs

into flesh & styrofoam

past the dirge

past the interstices

while we gaze at the shadows

disseminating

onto the wall teeth

protrude through the rift

moist & fibrous with

shellac & acrylic

the urge to step back

lies inside & outside

of the center

a riddle

ejaculating through

4

this spiral of anodized copper

made

scripture a code for

what has and has not been

cut

into stone or

clay

the word shift

fissured diffuses

along the strokes of the sign

a series of ligatures cut

by the reed stylus

for accounting of the city

creek for tree

three lines for mountain

through refraction

the landscape

as revealed