Kate Beall

Axe Flare

with a line from Judith Butler

Brain pressing deep 

along the fuzz

veering to the 

fried line 

of electric black.

Grease-slick fusion:

fist to brain, themselves

a kind of crossing

a flick in static

the crux of refusal—

space. Space and 

line and void and space.

And Whom?

after Gertrude Stein

That time to all was blend

and stars.

Red an all thing: there,

a water 

a disaster

accumulation.

Whiter painful grinding

in the spark-seen mind.

That tender an oyster;

oyster and enclosure.

Earning pink

or window swelling.

Covered vision. Questions hold.

Shower of mice or light.