Will Baker





In the bone mine I look for how it was done. I rake my fingers through carbon ionic fine and feel a superoxygenic softness for it fills the riverbeds of my fingerprints in dews until they overflow their banks and are a flood until the flood is a loch until the loch is a sea until I reach carbon ashen fine and the land is forgotten and so there is no sea, only carbon, and so not even that, until I reach carbon dirtic fine, stonen fine, and am scraping nail blunts and callous until the stonen erodes the undercarbon callous into new geographies whose peaks beget ionic beget ashen beget dirtic beget ad finitum, I believe one day bone. Bone to feel, bone to prove, bone to resist, bone to be not carbon and to whisper frictionless fricative under the suss tooling of carbon planets’ waves grinding away at bone. Bone around which to dig a mouth, bone-mouth down which to dig a throat, until a thorax until a carbon bone-body from which to pull bone, a fused inflexible spine, bone to support and bone to inspire and to never expire, bone to receive and perhaps bone to give, bone to god and to begodden. Bone to with carbon clean of carbon until from black it is white. Bone to whitely raise in black hands to show, to expose, to submit to them around me, their eyes wet shiny black and teeth wet shiny black ecstasies set unpeeled from faces of bodies whose colors I cannot discern under black ex-seas but for their differing lusters. They clap black hands into ion clouds and focus on the bone and I focus on the bone, my bone, aflight in these clouds it seems, but clutched in my black hands, black in the clouds’ black, my hands of my body whose colors I cannot discern, but which is discerned by the white bone from the black which consumes these different lusters. I turn the bone around until I find unto myself and thrust until I feel impact on both ends and then rub its white into my black gently until ungently that it might whiten and so discern my colors, me, and it begins to raise land which begets a sea to quell and I believe I discern a color until from clouds the sea swells and pours from me in dews unto the bone pores which overflow their banks and are a sweat until the sweat is a soak, a black soak, until the white is forgotten and so there is no white, only black, and so there is no bone, only carbon and the knowledge of bone. Bone to hope, bone to believe, bone to discover, bone to discern. Bone to be begotten from I rake my fingers through carbon in the bone mine where I look for how it was done.

— 2016