Luis Neer

Nebula In World of Fire

it is hard to make people care about you

there are people who care already, but these people are busy

you are left to your own devices

truly, the world is large

you are the only person who is idle in the world

your one task is to make people care

this is hard, because there is no power

you crawl under your bed and shiver

it registers as language | when no one is around

the calendar year opens and concludes in cold

outside, while walking uphill

you wonder if you are in a dream | because you are idle

you are out of pattern, within the world

whose information is foreign

messages transmitted by you are encrypted

all angels are terrifying | levitating

behind barriers, by streams that pass and hold you

the streams are made of rain

the angels are people, in heavy coats

they would drag you across a city | a century of

deserts, without noticing

you were there, dripping, holding paper and pencil

you are, in concrete, sinking

against logic that is harsh and hot, you are insulated

you are sleeping | might as well be dreaming

 

Poem written while balancing a crystal on
my head

two years ago bright moon
with the planet unscathed in different position
entered the hamster-cage wheel of the cosmos
drinking nectar burning forward
transmitting signal to shepherdstown year of lord two thousand sixteen

logan called the apartment the trap and i giggled
i fell through the carpets of days landing lost out in my powerful turtleneck

for the first time
witnessed the comet of my eyes

now all things are one level below i cannot accept anything yet
i share my orange juice with you we are almost in caves
for i paint my wall with beautiful figures
waiting for the moon to emerge

the crystal trembles and i am in love with the body
i sprinkle bread crumbs most places i go

like a vacuum cleaner
the sky borrows the crumbs

so as i kneel beside the garden to consider
the row of metal trash cans
the brush is lifted away from the canvas
i stand where i am thrown