I

The sound of millions of eyes blinking
the sound of every insect’s wings pushing air
is here in this black I use to tell you I had not heard
the sound of honed fingertips tracing glass rims on a porch
behind a rolling green at dusk before the sky bleats in void
in this body telling you in stretches marked in scar and bloat
that what I am is honey dripping and the light shined through
when eyes make these winds and take flight in dark arching breath

II

Light through the corners cat sounds
I blow you through the bedroom small
compress my spine against the days end
pray in tongue warps and time lapse
eye rolls rest my milky water bedside
fall in and out and in and out of slow
churned sheets of memory gauzing
Saturn devouring his son is melting
house bones yawn and slur the wind
as night invades the light of my body

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Adam Tedesco has worked as a shipbuilder, a meditation instructor, a telephone technician and cultural critic for the now disbanded Maoist Internationalist Movement. He is a contributing editor to the literary journal Drunk In A Midnight Choir, where he conducts the Converse X Inverse interview series. His recent work has appeared, or is forthcoming in Paraguay, pioneertown, Creative Nonfiction, Pine Hills Review, Similar:Peaks::, dcomP, Cosmonauts Avenue and elsewhere. He lives in Albany, NY with with wife, children and wild rabbits. Links to his work can be found at adamtedesco.com.