Song of the Andoumboulou: 60

The vote came in early. We ignored it. No ballot-box auction for us... Nub’s uninstructed dance’s bare feet, music we took them for. At a loss with only bodies to fend with, nonsonant waves kept coming, sang without wind,        saltless, waterless,         Nub’s inverted run, Nub newly vented by horns blown elsewhere, bells full of insect husks... Nonsonant scruff held on to, sheerness... Nothingness it seemed we grabbed at, gathered, beginning to be unending it seemed. We were beginning to be lured again, ready to be hectored, huthered, move on, beginning to be uprooted again... A peppered expanse the country we crossed. Space doled out so stingily we wept, love’s numb extremity the outskirts of Nuh, name whose elision we embraced... A tale told many times over, known before it reached us, known before we knew, un- backed alley of soul we wandered into, shadowbox romance it was called... Come of late to creation’s outskirts, rub’s new muse a republic of none, a yet-to-be band the band we were... We were Andoumboulou, dreamt in- habitants of “mu,” moored but immersed, real but made up, so much farther flung than we’d have thought... They the would-be we lay on a bed the size of Outlandish. Lip attesting lip, tongue rummaging tongue, took between finger and thumb the hem of her dress, flat bead of sweat, salted cloth... A hammer hit them each on the head. Hammered heads rang and rang without end...       Called it creation, called it their clime, close where there was otherwise distance,       mute endearment,        recondite embrace... So much farther, felt even so, mouth she remembered, home. His to hear her tell it, hers were it his to say, whose book was of lengthening limbs, hers of the unquenchable kiss... A tale told over and over, long since known by heart. Lay belly to back, turned belly to belly, each the other’s dreamt accompanist, music they made in their sleep... Frayed hem the interstice, time’s moot rule. Time’s moot rule amended, echoed advance it was also called ______________ A first unfallen church of what might've been. Let run its course it would have gone otherwise, time's ulterior bequest... This they had a way of imagining, this they so wished it to be. Abstract he at the back of her mind, she at the back of his, each the other's Nub constituent, ghost of an alternative life... They were we before we were, ancestral, we who'd never not be ill at ease. A vocation for lack he'd have said, she'd have said longing, a world, were they to speak, be- tween... What wasn't, they'd have said, went away, would come back, first fanatic church, what would be • They the would-be we talking talk of election, devotees of Iemanjá. Glass- green water they were in up to their shoulders, each the other's moored recess... The way she said his name stayed with him. More made of what wasn't there than what was, whispered, came back again... Love called out from side- walk to balcony, rooftop to galaxy, mute... More made of what was there than was there, mouths vow-heavy at bed's edge, lip-touch never to be done. Never to get up again it seemed, lay shaken, endlessly commemorative advent, dreamt evanescent caress... A first unfallen church it might have been. Let run its course it would have gone otherwise, time's ulterior bequest... This they had a way of imagining, this they so wished it to be. Abstract he at the back of her mind, she at the back of his, each the other's Nub constituent, ghost of an alternative life... They were we before we were, ancestral, we who'd never not be ill at ease. A vocation for lack he'd have said, she'd have said longing, a world, were they to speak, be- tween... What wasn't, we'd have said, went away, would come back, first afflicted church, what would be... We were caught in a dream whispering names we'd forget waking up, caught waking up or in a dream of waking up, moot sound riffling our lips. Nub was a name,        was was a name,           a was a name, all moving on... Names came after us, roused us in our sleep, the ballot-box opening grinned and grinned again, gone we'd have been could we have run... It wasn't we were stuck, stood frozen, transfixed, Paralytic Dream #12... It was waking known otherwise put running out of reach, nonsonance's waterless waves held us up, more than we could sense but sensed even so, nonsonance's gaptooth slur • Day late so all the old attunements gave way, late but soon come even so... A political trek we'd have said it was albeit politics kept us at bay,         nothing wasn't politics we'd say. Wanting our want to be called otherwise, kept at bay though we were, day late but all the old stories echoed yet again, old but even so soon come... A mystic march they'd have said it was, acknowledging politics kept us at bay,        everything was mystical they'd say. Wanting our want to be so named, kept at bay as we were, what the matter was wasn't a question, no ques- tion what it was ______________ Nub no longer stood but lay and we lay with it, earth-sway cradling our backs. What the matter was rocked us, a way we had with dirt, awaiting what already might have been there... Dust... Abducted future... Dearth Lake's dry largesse... Dread Lakes' aliases, alibis, Death Lake also there... Where we were rubbed earth in our faces, a feeling we had for debris. Nub, no longer standing, filled the air, an exact powder, fell as we ran thru it, earth-sway swaddling our feet