On Antiphon Island

—“mu” twenty-eighth part— On Antiphon Island they lowered the bar and we bent back. It wasn’t limbo we were in albeit we limbo’d. Everywhere we went we limbo’d, legs bent, shoulder blades grazing the dirt, donned andoumboulouous birth-shirts, sweat salting the silence we broke... Limbo’d so low we fell and lay looking up at the clouds, backs embraced by the ground and the ground a fallen wall we were ambushed by... Later we’d sit, sipping the fig liqueur, beckoning sleep, soon-come somnolence nowhere come as yet. Where we were, not- withstanding, wasn’t there... Where we were was the hold of a ship we were caught in. Soaked wood kept us afloat... It wasn’t limbo we were in albeit we limbo’d our way there. Where we were was what we meant by “mu.” Where we were was real, reminiscent arrest we resisted, bodies briefly had, held on to • “A Likkle Sonance” it said on the record. A trickle of blood hung overhead I heard it spurts. An introvert trumpet run, trickle of sound... A trickle of water lit by the sun I saw with an injured eye, captive music ran our legs and we danced... Knees bent, asses all but on the floor, love’s bittersweet largesse... I wanted trickle turned into flow, flood, two made one by music, bodied edge gone up into air, aura, atmosphere the garment we wore. We were on a ship’s deck dancing, drawn in a dream above hold... The world was ever after, elsewhere. Where we were they said likkle for little, lick ran with trickle, weird what we took it for... The world was ever after, elsewhere, no way where we were was there