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"Movie-Making" By Gabrielle Oliver

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read it three ways

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"Contrapuntal No. 1"

I. if we had taken time to see what they had worked for-- land upon land, hand upon shovel-- the tongues that they talked in would lick at our heels like the mouths of petty mutts, as shitty books on tape. you would be upstanding and successful with all the boys of adversity; as solid as fortitude, weighed with the best, and giving freely. all authority-- all power-- all judgement-- all rule-- yours, and nothing would ever stand against you. your pearly whites smelt with the blood of captured predators, and with your tongue-- the tongue of the tongues they had talked in-- you would lick at my heels to make me tall. II. away from the hands of our fathers and every seed they had sown, we would be a mirror to the naught and good before us, as the towers they built tumble looseleaf in our hands, and there would be nothing but nothing feeding on all the cocks in all the backs of all the cars. you'd be mesh and pinched wire in your brimstone ashsoot fishbowl of hell. your life --would be taken from you --would be taken from you --would smite you --would shackle your hands. the way of sod would belong to you, running over and over you. your tattered throat, from millions and millions of forceful horse ejaculations fed to you, you'd suckle on every seed they had ever sown to name my children's children's children to build tall rooms in tall towers. III. if we had taken time away from the hands of our fathers, to see what they had worked for, and every seed they had sown, land upon land, hand upon shovel, we would be a mirror to the naught and good before us. the tongues that they talked in--as the towers they built-- would lick at our heels like the mouths of petty mutts, tumble looseleaf in our hands as shitty books on tape, and there would be nothing but nothing. you would be upstanding and successful, feeding on all the cocks in all the backs of all the cars with all the boys of adversity; you'd be mesh and pinched wire, as solid as fortitude in your brimstone ashsoot fishbowl-- weighed with the best of hell. and giving freely your life, all authority would be taken from you. all power would be taken from you. all judgement would smite you. all rule would shackle your hands. yours, the way of sod --and nothing would belong to you, would ever stand against you, running over and over you. your pearly whites, your tattered throat, smelt with blood from millions and millions of forceful horse ejaculations, of captured predators fed to you, and with your tongue you'd suckle on the tongue of the tongues they had talked in, every seed they had ever sown; you would lick at my heels to name my children's children's children to make me tall to build tall rooms in tall towers.

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