Man in Motion Sickness

Until there’s nothing
left but the dream
of a paper camera
with paper film & a destroyer
            like a wedding
problematic eyes
            on the lift
The clear sunlight that breaks
            on the day’s murk
alienated from xmas must
be the final frontier the shelf
elf pings back to a grey warehouse
            somewhere — Diwali
or Cold Food                        Let it not be
said the bare limbs in a muddle
            are not like writing
on all the days I struggle
to care
            Errant bridgework
the unreliable demiurge
            of a pulse to verge on
problems                      The movies flash
            like artillery that silver light
                                      in the photograph
            with the dead girl                       I intend
to begin taking pictures again
            through the plastic aperture
but no color in the lab
                                      no structure for these things
            no precedent
                                      to toggle the lever
            to begin the strange music
the moist nose of a dog
            right in the middle of the night
                                      clots of Polish mistletoe
fall to the ground like spirit orbs
            in vacation photographs
If you must believe in something
            believe in this
                                                       the unruly static
hides the whims
            of the quiet dead