thalia field




“Responsibly” I embroider some “nerves” (this nervous orderly, from the basement upstairs at midnight:) not now, nor have I ever been a responsible worker since “hungrier” is an attribute (he has to clean her light-producing organs) of appetite exhaling warm blue light as she embroiders, having nothing accidentally to do with appetite but with food procurement (less so “consumption”) & the electric cord works on sustained static, pitched on carpeted stairs (this porous fabric of old age, as cells slow down) I leave a note for the next guy: 

she lies in old sheets 


any body shining faintly when taken into a dark room, signifies the absence 

the old lady smiled, because I like old ladies and to think of them smiling (he surfs the channels on an old b&w, jerking) a smile one last weapon so I write that the old lady lies in bed smiling even as the young man who cares for the night (shift, picks his teeth, his guitar) cares for her television & microwave and appliqu�s simultaneously (he leans on the table & thwaps strings against the wooden neck or body, bending them back) as combustion was once accompanied by heat (the theory fails) though heat alone suffices to illuminate unshelled forms (& her clock slows its display, his percussion) emits some light, “placing” an emptiness 

a good-enough vacuum; the three kingdoms of nature’s clarity: dying animals, vegetables, minerals; or two lumps of sugar struck together 

the “shining” sea 

despite loud guitar she wishes to visit lower settings: slow breathing (rustic antiquity, choppy perhaps: big amp) or pharmaceutical detail, a pill wave, for phosphorescence for one so aged in fact (in tucked lips, his pick) we’ve encountered her circuit coiled & solving what he’s going to practice: tonight, he mutters changes to soiled sheets 


& she faints into the grief of other self-luminous organisms 

as teams redirect wind and solar circuits (or feedback bends around him with digits touching, microwaves: a complexity of being turned down) her twisty spine sculpting this occasion (he steps back & drums the counter) after such pressure the inner surface, her glass grows mold 

& this “glow” accompanies the cessation of animal as vegetable; bodies of marine flesh flashing after a sustainable energy of anatomical grieving, the layerlike appearance to an empty vessel provoked by sparks 

with red lights on her bedside, a doily extinguishes without man, lamb or calf 

“Eat your head, eat your head” candle-bearers of dark, the luminous track, in other words, dead fish glowing in the eventual pantry 

I like old ladies (across her room, unaware of the short he’s caused) their one-pot dinner & smut endured from upcoming generations “to top it all off” (he forks her macaroni with one hand to tweak the volume up again unrecognized) concocting every mindless meal of time, her guide through a different cell than suns and bulbs 

imagine a putrefaction 

bearing traces, any body darkening a doorway, I wrote 

is said to behave like the bed-bound, one or two appliances wrapped in the trunk of an oak, emitting rotting light she is awake and afraid 

moisture increases it
& he gets reckless nonetheless
an atmosphere of pure nitrogen

I say I like her (it doesn’t work either) on mornings which intrude with his shift’s beginning & with the presence of Noctiluca miliaris, when I could be responsible & grind her to sleep, give the kid something else to do (he lies back on the pillow & turns up reverb) despite the earshot of our charges, soft-bodied 

many of whom were once self-luminous 

she is static electricity I write to forget the significance inventions have 

a rod glass-handled (jumps in hair) “rough” 

decay of potatoes and their glow 

the nails increase in stench, she turns from matters theoretical “to trap a sunbeam” transmitted from a greeting card, early anthropology, her socks pushed through pile 

lack of a crowd, the seafloor, hallways, the violet end of things, where heat is least of all to combine with ordinary air 

her language in sudden arrest and, I may further add, to the like of old ladies 

the temperature cooled by removal of final doubts, requires no imagination to prepare (what’s left) the body (trembling, in the case of insomnia) an exposure, a shining appearance (the bardo of fish to bird) the spark gap 


old worms in their nighties with remarkable wattage, despite a few liquified pockets, the job of temporary bacteria, amplified guitar noise, ancients who have no better name for cobweblike fungi 

Lampyris, she thinks (and an atmosphere of pure nitrogen) 

& an imagined red mushroom with bluish glow, reciprocity of “getting warm,” radiation and absorption, luminous paint for trains to light their own tunnels, this orderly-shirking duty scattered waste (the bardo of caring to indifference) or stairways 

uprooted and isolated, many nights a self-lighted closet 

full of diamonds and lime, luminous on their own after isolation 


reaching of the body’s molecules, results (his strumming, beating air against it, or the bath of sound waves) like the faint glow of oyster shells in a midnight pool (and would it help to fire any one of these punks?) to amplify a face in unlit exit, worthy of her mystery, this unregained dollop.