KEY AND STRING

KEY AND STRING THEORETICALLY RIPPLING IN THE WAKE 
RATTLES SURFACE OF DRYING BONES
EXCAVATED FROM A LAKE

A BLOW AGAINST THE BONES NOW 
STRIKES THEM DOWN INTO THEIR MARROW
DUST FLOATS IN CHAOS TRACING
WING TRACKS OF SPARROW
SUSPENDING CRIMSON IN THE PEARLESCENT WHITES 
OF FRESHLY DRIED SIGHT
KICKS IRIS 
WITH THE ILLUSION 
OF LIGHT IN MEMORY

STRING STRIKES WAGE WAR
AGAINST THE KICKS OF AN ANCHOR ONCE ASHORE
NOW NO MORE 
REVIVAL ON THE OCEAN’S FLOOR
NOW NO MORE 
REVIVAL ON THE BEDROOM DOOR
SUCK THE CRIMSON FROM THE BITS AND 
PRAY FOR MORE 
CRUSH THE BITS IN A STAMPING FIT 
ON A REVIVAL FLOOR 

A SEXED BEING SPLITS ON DEW OF THE WAVE PROJECTION
NOW MORE, DIVIED INTO THE POSSIBILITIES THAT LIE THEREIN

SHE NOW THEE, ASTRAL BEAM OUT IN A PUNCH FROM THE GUT
DISEMBOWELING THE DUB OF WHAT LIED IN THE SUB

HIS HIGH STRUNG WIRE SHRIEKS AT ITS SCRAPING
THOUGH THREADBARE, STILL INEFFABLE. 
BREAKS IN ITS GAPING

Copyright © 2023 by Juliana Huxtable. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 22, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets. 

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“I was invited to the music studio of a new friend who makes abstract, industrial noisescapes. It was unclear what would transpire during this rendezvous, but we planned to collaborate in some way, even if it was ephemeral. I told him how in awe I was of the rapper Dr. Octagon’s cadence and lyrical syncopation, how bizarre the beats were, and how perfectly agile his language and rhythm were in kind. He (my friend) made a loop of percussion with some serrated waves of digital noise. I wrote this praise poem for the song as such to this loop. It is a revelation.”
—Juliana Huxtable