is your body still a cage
do you (still) wear your clothes like shadows
do you still strap (black) (wings) to your back
do you (still) try to give form to the formless
do you still search for birthmarks (on) (your) (skin)
do you (still) draw of what you cannot speak
do you still hide vast unspoken clouds within a word
do you remember being born, do you remember being reborn
does your body change when you stand in the shadow of the wall of (O.L.O.T.F.)
is she still holding your hand out of sight
are you still holding her hand as if it was a protean gift
do you still grow in her proximity
are the pavements still wet from the rain
do they glow with orange reflected light
does her heavy flesh still fill your hands
can you still never completely remember what your hands have felt
do you still catch the last train home
does your feeble lighting still not push the darkness back beyond your windows
does your dead son still follow you around on the back of a pony
are things (still) (born) from your head
do you still feel (less) a part of one thing and (more) a part of another
are you still aware of the heart shaped shadow on the warm ochre surface of the wall
do you still wear your past life (like) (flesh) (and) (blood)
do you still find a heart shaped cloud in the exploding fireworks above the house
do you still try and still fail to empower a memory with a retrievable sense of touch
do you still try and still fail to empower a memory with a retrievable sense of smell
do you still compulsively touch the surface of things – to remember them in that act of touching
do you still walk on the cold hard long dead ghost images of animals
do you still see and resee
do flowers still cover your face
do you remember being struck by lightning
does the lightning still travel through your body
do you remember Miss. S.
do you still discover vessels
do you still have to tell (me) (something)
(have) (you) (still) (lost) (the) (power) (of) (flight)
is your song still stolen (from) (your) (lips)
does the gun inside your head still bark fire and lead
do you still write the things (on) (walls) that you cannot say
does your face still become drawn with hers as mine does with yours
do you feel the air grow cold around you
are you aware of all the things that are misnamed
do you see the way her body absorbs light
do you see the way her body pushes against confinement
do you still sing hunger songs
do you still sit in front of the reflecting, night blackened window
do you still project poems onto the sides of mountains
do your bright energised words still warm you
are you still looking for a voice in which to speak
is your mind still a cage

do you still build your house out of light
do you still build your house out of water
do you still build your house out of colour
do you still build your house out of cages
do you still build your house out of lead
do you still build your house out of clothes
do you still build your house out of guilt
do you still build your house out of pain
do you still build your house out of flesh
do you still build your house out of emptiness
do you still build your house out of paper
do you still build your house out of memories
do you still build your house out of inaction
do you still build your house out of scent
do you still build your house out of time
do you still build your house out of loss
do you still build your house out of song
do you still build your house out of hunger
do you still build your house out of books
do you still build your house out of expectation
do you still build your house out of bone
do you still build your house out of change
do you still build your house out of language
do you still build your house out of reason
do you still build your house out of desire
do you still build your house out of hair
do you still build your house out of shadows
do you still build your house out of seed
do you still build your house out of words
do you still build your house out of flowers

do you (still) always (want to) (need to) know the full story
do you (still) hold your heavy head between your hands
do you (still) rub your eyes until they (weep) until they (bleed)
do you still walk beside the river, do small details still strike you
do you still think that (this) is what you wanted
are you still fascinated by houses
do you see the swallows dipping their tail feathers in the poison
do you see the seeds exploding from their pods
do you still see the slow progression of sunlight across the floor
do you see the shadows of birds on the ground without seeing the birds themselves
(does) (the) (world) (still) (only) (come) (to) (you) (in) (fragments)
do your (dark) eyes still sparkle

are the walls still covered with language
are the walls still covered with small stones
do you still (go) (down) (deep)
are you still unable to stop it from happening
do the (tall) trees still whisper to you (about love) (about love)
do you still fall in love with an image or a token, a symbol, a metaphor
language destroyed (do you still remember the time when language lost it’s power, it’s meaning)
do you still look again and keep looking again (and) (again)
do you still hear things that can’t be said and say things that should never be said aloud do you still re-say the
un-sayable, does the air still turn black with your words, does the gun in your head bark like a bloody big dog barking
do you still try to make something so (by) (talking) (about) (it)
do you still keep repeating something you want to be true
are you still beset by vacuums
do animals still try to eat you (at) (night)
do you still sleep on the surface of an ocean
are you still staying in a place where people are constantly passing by
do you still breathe her voice into your lungs and hold it there as if it was precious, do you feel her words in your throat wanting to be respoken
do you still consume her words do they feed you
do white (brilliant) thunder head clouds still start massing above the trees at the back of the house
does darkness still grow across the sky
does the wind begin to blow full of emotion
do the tall trees writhe and lament
is the air suddenly full of a snowfall of dead leaves and remnant blossom
does the air fill with bad words
does the house start to breathe (the) (cool) (winds) (in)

do you still sit beside someone you don’t know and watch the world passing
do you feel a connection
do you cross rivers and does the train scream on the bridges
do you still create a wall of sound behind which you isolate yourself
are you aware of other’s isolation
do you still make lists
is language still your master
do fields of wheat still grow (on) (your) (belly)
do you still always have to look (inside)
do you (still) always have to touch
do you still look at one thing as if it were something else
do the trees still laugh with their leaves (and) (do) (you) (still) (hear) (them)
does your mouth still painfully shape itself to your words
do you (still) swallow the hills and the fields and the trees and the river
does your mouth still lead you into hostile places
(do) (you) (still) (swallow)
do you still put your hand in that of another
do you still hear your unborn children crying to you
do you (still) attempt to deceive (the) (blind)
do you still feel the burden (of) (the) (word) upon you (heavily)
do you still plant (flowers) in inconceivable places
do you still bury books (in) (the) (soft) (dark) (soil)
do you still move between people (as) (if) between shorelines
does your wandering still cover the face of the earth
do flowers (still) grow in your wake
are your memories still wound like the inside of a shell (in) (a) (spiral)
do you still have the ability to transform yourself
do you still carry water between places
do you still imagine sucking form from stone (like) (it) (was) (honey)
do you still think of things as being un-numbered
do you remember when (I) (saw) (something) when (you) (saw) (something)
do you still put known heads onto unknown bodies
do the crows still dance on your roof
do they still avoid looking you in the eye
do you still believe in the ninth wave
do you still shine (darkly) in the (brightness)
do you still see the visible world as a screen
do you still see your home (in) (a) (dream)
do you still turn aside (do) (you) (still) (brood)
do you still turn your head around (rere) (regardant)
do you still (weave) and (unweave) your self-image
are you still crouched down by the barbed wire fence at the edge of the forest
are you still naked except for your shoes
are you still wearing that ridiculous wig
are you still smiling submissively
are shadows still creeping up your legs instead of across the ground
are you still wearing the blood red heart shaped ring
does one of your hands still protect the other
are you still holding the remnants of your former life in the protected hand
does the outline of a previous head still form an aureole around your present one
are you still carrying an image of yourself on your back
is every horizon you have ever seen still written onto the curved surface of your eye
do roots still grow from your limbs (do) (they) (still) (grow) (against) (your) (eyes) (your) (lips)
do your thoughts still (sometimes) manifest themselves as birds (in) (the) (air) (above) (your) (head)
(do) (you) (feel) (the) (approaching) (knife), the severer

do you remember how her words pressed softly against your eyelid when she bent close to your face and whispered to you
do you still see one thing and say something else
do you still see one thing and hear something else
does your breath form into bright clouds (against the dark trees) in the cold air behind you
do you still return (again) and (again) to the ocean and wait for her wave
do you (still) think that if we looked through the same eye we would see the same things
is the weight of what you have forgotten greater than that of what you have remembered
do you still feel an overwhelming physical need to touch some people
does your life (still) seem to be a trap
are you (still) looking for a (way to) a (means of) escape
do you still fear paralysis
do you still feel that your breath is stolen from your lungs (at night)
does the incubus still come and sit on your chest (at night)
can you still sense the creeping, overpowering organism surrounding you
(does the swan still fly along the valley, do you still hear its beating wings)
are you still afraid of becoming what you are not
did you forget to take the small boy by the hand
do you still allow him to be bullied, insulted
do you still fear dust
do you still see and hear the birds
do you still hear the trains passing on the horizon, the Golden Arrow
do you still hear the sound of the front door knocker, the creaking stairs and floor boards, the sound the front door makes opening and closing and the back door when you pull it open, when it briefly sticks, then releases and reverberates in your hand for a few seconds
can you still hear the house breathing
do the birds still come and gather around you when you sit still for a time
can you still feel (even now) the hold your roots have in this dark soil
do your roots also claim the chalk for themselves
do you remember the lost trees of the resurrection
do you still think that you can be touched by all things in the same way you feel you can touch all things
does the snake still come out of your mouth and bite your face and spit in your eye
do your children still hold up mirrors to your eyes
do you still see some things that your eyes are incapable of coping with
what do you see in the mirror
can you still not remember how that blood got on your hand
do you still lose love like blood from a wound, do you still haemorrhage love
when you leave your studio and her song starts playing in your head and you look down the road going into town do you still see the sun hanging just above the houses, three times its usual size and bleeding red light across the sky
do you see the shadows creeping into the edges of the darkness like small animals as you walk along the street
do you see the landscape drawn in form by a herd of animals running over it
do you still go down into yourself when you don’t find what you need in the passing world
can I (still) smell you on my skin
how many times (do you think) has she said my name
do you still want to make something that will exist in the world without saying anything about the world

do you still half wake up when the animal sits on your chest, does it keep its obscenely distended eye averted and is it gone before you know, before you are fully awake, but can you feel the weight of it long afterwards
do you still feel you can best speak with your hands
do you still try to say goodbye
(are) (we) (the) (ocean) you and me (K.) (are) (we) (the) (ocean) the slow moving ocean
(are) (we) (the) (melancholy) (depths) from which language and seeing emerged
do you still write poems on her face do you then still tear them off again
do you still try to walk away
does your world still start to crumble (then)
are (you) still a prisoner
do you still cherish the things you know
are you still fascinated by materials
do you still feel you have to keep your shadow safe
do you still have one face to reflect the world and one face to repel it
are you still in danger of sinking into the earth
are you still in danger of catching fire (and) (burning) (until) (you) (are) (a) (blackened) (stump)
are you unsure about the difference between what you saw and what you thought you saw
are you still in danger of dissolving
do you still see things that you don’t know the name of
do you still look behind the mirror
do you still see her appearing (being born out of) the sea
do you still try to plant seed (in) (my) (face)
do you still enter and re-enter the building
do shadows still hang like objects from the front of the building (at) (night)
do you still hang half a photograph (on) (your) (wall)
do your eyes still describe objects in their movements
do you still change form
do you still sing your sad songs
are you still unaware of the world (beyond what you see)
will you (still) meet me down by the river
do you still fall asleep on the smooth warm rock
do you still have a different voice in which to speak to different people
do you speak (a) (language) (of) (flowers)
do you still run out of things to say to me
do you still want to be loved
do you still feel the force, necessary, to keep (things) at bay
are you aware of power (as) (a) (sign)
do you still ask answers and expect questions in return
do you still hold anger (in) (your) (bare-bone) (hands)
do you still let things come unto you
do you still feel you become what you are thinking about
do you still see (with) (your) (voice) and speak (with) (your) (eyes)
do you still wake up with (J.) singing in your head
do you still feed on (missing) words
do you still say what you will
do you still find meaning in things (reasons for staying)
do you still light up (at) (a) (word)
do you still light up (at) (a) (touch)
do you still want his wings
do you still wait in the darkness
do you still immerse yourself in song
do you still need a part of someone else in order to live
does he still carry things for you does he still carry you
do you still try to grow wings
how do you sleep

do you still walk on the hillside (between the trees)
would you still count her last few breaths
do you remember the train journeys, the rattling, jarring progression from green to grey
do you remember the hard rails, screeching fields of points, former crash sites
do you remember her sitting opposite you, her arms crossed across her chest
do you remember her dark hair, her ghost skin
are you still unable not to hear the voices downstairs
do you still wake up with a song in your head
do you remember when (sadness) became a part of your life
can you (still) surround yourself with light
does the sky move (quickly) above your head, does it pass
do you still fall out of the sky
are you still waiting, waiting

does the (peachlike) sun still hang above your head
is the load you carry still a heavy one
do you still sometimes wonder whether time has stopped
do you still see the world reduced to words
do you still see trees as trees from the history of art
do you still see lips full of blood
do you still see her feet leaving dew-stain shadows on the flagstones
is the air between us filled with words
do you still feel her thin fingers penetrating your flesh
do you still paint yourself with found colours
do you still feed your eyes (feed your mind)
do you remember the day you died
do you remember time slowing to avoid conclusion (in your poisoning kitchen)
do you recall the moment when the momentum, the (once) unstoppable force of your life, arrested
can you still hear the harsh German television voices
do you remember the bee hovering beside your arm, its wing beat breath panting against your skin
do you remember the thief thrush standing on the dried-up grass with a grape in its beak
are you still waiting to wake up from your little sleep
are you still waiting for the sun to come out from behind the cloud
does your shadow still sink into the soft dark earth (when you stand still for too long)
do you still measure distance in song(s)
do you still need to be touched

do birds still fly through your eyes
do you still talk to yourself (and) (no one) (can) (hear)
do you still see auras around objects
is the snow still blue
do the street lights still arc across the front of your car, do they form a chain
do you still see your face reflected on the surface of old photos
are your ears still coloured bright red
do they still sing for you and do you still hide your face (in) (your) (hands)
do you still run from being seen
are you still pulled along by your curiosity
do you still remain unmoving while everyone around you is moving
do you still find yourself in a place where there are thousands of animals
do they part when you move through them
do you still see (even) when you have closed your eyes
does a realisation of the way things are, suddenly, come upon you
do you still say things you don’t know that you are saying
are the mountains still pressed up against your house
can you still feel the touch of her lips on your face
does the angel (still) take you back to all the places where you once felt safe
is the wall still covered in messages
do you still look for meaning in series of numbers
do you still know what is going to happen
do you still sit and cry as the past becomes real to you again
do your words still warm the air
do you still tend to (walk) (away)
is your body (still) a hiding place
to know (and) be known
is the printed world your world
does it still feel good to withdraw, to (I) (S) (O) (L) (A) (T) (E) yourself
do you still look at me with wide open disbelieving eyes and do you still keep your purple lips firmly closed as I touch them nine times
do you still stand in the open window and watch the storm (and) (feel) (the) (air) (become) (cold)
can you smell the rain
does she come and stand beside you and do you want to touch her
do you still sometimes wonder whether time has stopped
do words still fill the air between us

do you whisper some things and shout others

do you still think that your reality is different to that of other people
do you still see trees written on with words
does a space retain a memory of your form when you leave
are there still holes in your body into which emptiness leaks
do you still have your internal organs displayed on a screen beside you
do you still look at them as if they belonged to someone else
does the fear of dogs still attach itself to your feet
do the crows (still) come and dance on your tin roof, do they (still) jump around like rain
do you want some things to be over quickly
do you realise you will never see these young trees mature
are you still repeatedly struck by the shortness of life
does this realisation make it difficult for you to breathe
do you still long for an animal’s incapacity to sense time
do you remember seeing the tiny numbers (9.25) woven in her hair just behind her left ear
does your heart still leak fluid through your clothes
are you still standing, there, with the house held in your hands
do you see people becoming part of the landscape they are in if they keep still for too long
does the shape of a person’s body still seem to you to conform to their chosen life
does time still pass more quickly in the presence of some people, more than in that of others
are you sometimes aware of the (avalanche)
does the psychopath still appear in your dreams
do you still imagine you can see the physical shape of someone’s voice
does it still surprise you that your memories of certain events belong to you and not someone else
do you (still) think that (you have seen it all, now)
do you still feel you can reach up and touch the sky
do you still think that some things and people that are no more, maybe, never existed at all
are there things (in your mind) that you did not know were there
do you still think of people being alive when you are with them and dead when you are not
do you still think that some people need protecting from what you know
do you sometimes feel you leave an impression on the air
are you still compelled to read the texts people have written on their clothes
do the foxes still come up to the house
does the crow still come flying up the hill, up over the roof of the house, swearing, coarsely, as it passes
is the shadow of the apple tree reaching out towards the house
do the aeroplanes still fly far above his roof writing in thin white lines the code of his unravelling DNA
are the birds still so agitated, never landing for more than a second or two
are his breaths becoming countable
do you still fall and fall again and again
are you carrying the stone, again
do you still see everything as if it was nothing
can you still hear the girl singing about love, somewhere, to someone you do not know
are you still turned over on your back, your soft belly exposed, your eyes full of above
do you still weep for a deconstructed life
how big, do you think, is your inner space
do you still live and think in two separate worlds

do you project your words against the mountain, do you let them sink into the ocean
you found my voice, you recognized it (as) (your) (own) you spoke to me (in) (it)
are our faces still projected against the tall trees in Ostia
do you remember the first time you heard the sound of her voice, and the last time
do you sometimes see as if seeing is hunger and do you sometimes close your eyes (the bones of your face become the shore and your unseeing sight the ocean)
can you remember the time when seeing was like seed
do you (still) see everything as if it was for the very first time
you ask me about my breath but I am breathless
(you) said something you said you said something (you) said something you said said something (to) (me) but (I) (but) I couldn’t (but) I couldn’t (I) couldn’t hear what (what) (it) (was) I couldn’t hear what (it) was
are you (still) always and irrevocably alone (in your seeing field)
do you still (sometimes) find it difficult to look people in the eye
are you still blinded by flowers, do they still stop you from speaking
do you still want to know
no no you don’t no you don’t want to want to know
I saw you I saw you I saw you I saw you listening
do you still have one face to attract the world and one to repel it
do you still have to tell me (something) (anything)
are you still compelled to make lists of irrelevant things
do you still say things that others don’t understand
do you still carry your past life with you as if it was made of flesh and blood
do you still fall asleep as one person and wake up as another
do you still (always) have to look inside
do you still feel (less) a part of one thing and (more) a part of another
do you (still) think you can see things that cannot be seen
do you still see beyond seeing
do you still think that this is your face (your faces)
do you remember the low sky, the dark continental cloud which moored itself to the earth through the smoke spewing tall Brussels’s factory chimneys
do you still see the angel dust irradiated spray made by the black tarmac drumming wheels of the car in front of your hurtling car, do you still pass through it again and again into the low hung midwinter sunshine
do you see the women still standing beside the road beneath the trees
do you see the burnt black woods regreening
do you still see the wind-whipped sea and the pale ochre beach with its thin wind-dried layer disturbed by our footsteps which were already blurring, disappearing by the time we walked back (again)
do you still remember the stone shaped like a thumb which you picked up and put into your pocket, do you remember that specific shell, the lost dog, the dead fish lying parallel to the sea in the sand, the red plastic recorder, the toy axe, the cold wind
do you still see her hands covered in arabesques
do you still walk down through the narrow woods past the climbing tree, the faces tree, the speaker tree, the light tree
does the sun still burn away half the sea from your eyes
does the sun project your shadow all the way across the road and onto the facade of a house
do you still want to stop between the trees and stand in the sun facing the wasteland and did you hear voices and see dogs in the distance
do you still see the red dust filled illuminated air beneath the trees on the dirt road by the stables in Ostia
do you still follow the road up into the mountains, do you feel the air grow cold around you, do you look back from whence you came and feel the distance as if it was a heavy weight
are you still drawn to del Canale Della Lingua
do you still try to recreate a body by describing it in words
do you still write down the names of colours you see in certain situations
do you (still) drink from the yellow cup
do you still sometimes see with time slowing eyes
do you still think you can build a house to contain a thought
are you still afraid of heights
do stairs still obsess you

do you still paint yourself black, move in a furtive diagonal way, are you aware of every movement within hundreds of metres, fly away at the first sign of human presence, swear, go up onto the roof and scratch it with your claws, eat dead thing’s eyes, lift your bloodied beak up to the sky as if it was a sign
do you see his head rise up from behind the barmaids flowered back, resting a while on the gentle slope, while behind him a face on a screen is seemingly spewing whispering words into his ear
do you still create worlds in which to live, do you draw things into existence, free thoughts from wood, write landscapes
do they still not believe you, do they still not (want) to believe you
do you remember the last happy period of your life
do the flames still reach up into the sky and do the empty shells of houses fall down around you
do you still stalk the dead writer
do you still not have a proper job
are you still happy when you read out loud
are you still concerned about how words sound as well as what they mean
did you never really grow up (before you died)
are you still inclined to become lost in the wonder of words

when you discover one thing about someone do you still need to keep on discovering things about them
do you remember when forms were not described by their physical shape but by the shadows they cast
do you still swim out into the middle of the lake, where you can’t hear the voices on the shore, any more
are you still fascinated by the bellies of horses, do you take photos of them
do you (still) want her to take you by the hand down to the river and part the reeds with the back of her hand and lead you into the stream, where she will lay you down in the tendril filled current until you can’t hear what she is saying and your eyes fill with water
do you still lie down on the bed and keeping as still as possible, breathe slowly in shallow almost movementless breaths, the darkness pressing against your skin like earth and do you hear no more songs singing about love any more
do you remember the rows and rows of houses backed up against the tracks so you can see right into their upper windows, see all the flowered wallpapers, backdrops to lives lived in a presentation case, a natural history
do you (still) have a life behind this one and one behind that, one for each person you meet, and a number you keep just for yourself (buried lives)
do you still see the landscape you are passing through as being created for you
do you still see clouds moving like water, moving like the ocean (sliding) (to) (or) (from) (the) (horizon)
can you feel the boy inside you, does he still need protection, can you still hold him, can you speak to him
do you still not want to go down to the black house, knock on the black door, go into the black room, lie down on the black bed, do you still not want to go to sleep in the black house
do you (still) breathe with her breath, wear her skin, see through her eyes, hear her slow inner muffled throbbing voice, become wet with her wetness, endure her heaviness, pull shadows across your skin
do you always come back to your place beside the tracks where you hear the tall trees whispering to you when the trains are not crashing by on iron wheels on iron paths
do you still ask for more light

are you still afraid (of) (being) (left) (alive) (and) (alone)
do you still use language as a weapon
do you (still) not (sing) along with others
does the wind still reinforce your sense of foreboding
are you (still) waiting for the storm to arrive
are you still refusing to speak to God
do you (still) feel that your childhood was stolen from you
do you remember (one) (day) fashioning your self image
do you still create fears (foreign to you) to appear normal
do you still depersonalise your feelings in order to record them
do you still not want to have to choose between things but have both
do you still feel your mind will split open when you think of too much at once
does your skin still map your concerns
do others still think you exaggerate (now)
can you still see the colour of electricity
do you remember the feel of borrowed clothes on your skin
do you still have that dark scar (under) (your) (eye)
are photographs of you still misleading
do you still release words painfully
do you still write your name on objects (in black heavy pen)
are you still one person within the shell of another
do you still paint your lips bright red across your solemn face
do you still find English winters difficult to endure
(do your teeth still chatter) [in your Heptonstall grave]
can you still feel the power force of language (between your dust dry lips)
do you still write with a disguising pen
is your inner voice still unkind to you
are you still looking for your voice
do you still read extensively (in your English grave)
can you still taste stories on your tongue
do you still sit with the red covered thesaurus in your lap
do you still burn his words
are you still yearning for rebirth, have you yet to be reborn
do you still realise that one voice can become another
can you still feel the unstoppable force (of writing)
do you still draw as much from literature as from life
does your spirit (still) expand and contract
do you still feel the heavy touch of winter
are you still a (w) (o) (u) (n) (d)
how many times can you use fire as a weapon
do all the portraits on the walls still change to resemble him
do new clothes still transform you
how many times do you think you can be reborn
do you still think you can cope with this London winter
do you still appear at doors frightened and pathetic
do you still maintain you did not want to die
do you still not have a telephone
did your momentum stop
did your words become dry
does there still seem no way out of your dilemma

do you still give shelter to seven small figures beneath your clothes
do you still wear a yellow or golden dress beneath your coat
are you still holding a sign in your hands on which there is no text
are you still standing on a brown and green mound, against a reddish purple background
is there a circle of blue sky above your head
are you still dressed in dark earth green
is there still a small grey bird perched on your left hand
do you still hold something in your right hand that you appear to want to give to someone
do your breasts still protrude through two holes in your dress
is your face still bright blood red
are there still nine deep blue birds sitting on the roof of your house
do you still sit on the ground in a white circle
does water still flow from between your legs
are your actions still written in the air above your head
are you still wearing a simple white shift
do you still part it over an area of your stomach with your hands
do you see two birds seizing each others tails
are you aware of things taking place upon a green field against a pinkish purple background
do you still hold a small bowl in your left hand
are you still being led to the fire
is the sun still shining against a dark brown sky
do you still sit within a green plain before a bluish green background with two jars beside you
are you still holding another jar in one hand and your hair in the other
does the sky still bend down close and kiss you
does she still make you a potion
do you still write songs for her which become lost to you
does your seed still fall into the sea (and) (does) (the) (sea) (still) (give) (birth) (to) (your) (offspring)
do you cross fields of ice, seas of ice, blue almost vertical wall waves
do you remember seeing someone losing the power of speech
did you see her standing in front of the taped-up window
do you watch her lips slowly forming words
do you still look for places where you can become invisible
can you still not draw
can you still not keep your mind focused on one thing
does it slide into a thousand different thoughts
do you still always have to count the number of things
do you still appear stark in chemical light
do you (still) cry against her milk white throat
is her hair still full of your (whispered) (words)
do you still build houses on the palm of your hand
do you still paint things white
have you ever held your children in the palm of your hand
can you still fly
do you still do things the dead do
do you feel her pain (as if it was an object you turn in your hands)
do you avoid contact with some people at all costs

do you still look for missing colours
do you still feed the animal
do you still dream things into existence
do you still see colour leak from one thing into another
(are) (you) (still) (drawn) (unto) (the) (shadows)
do you still speak in a voice that others cannot hear
are you still aware of things (which) (do) (not) (have) (a) (name)
are you still blinded by the act of (speaking) (the) (truth)
do you still leave as much behind as you meet
do you still bury memories in soft dark earth
are you still inclined to see what cannot be seen
do you (still) believe that some things can be (undone)
do you (still) believe that some things can be (redone)
do you still (sit) (beneath) (the) (tree)
do you still lightly touch others in secret
do your words still consist of light
does (awareness) still come to you with pain
do you still become tired by the effort of (not) touching
do you still sometimes feel your invasiveness
do you still (wonder) about the nature of touching
do you (still) feel the weight (of) (his) (body) against yours
do you still catch people in your staring eye
when autumn comes, do you still feel the darkening pull
do you still take his hands and put them under your clothes
do you still tend to pay with flesh
do I still want so much you cannot give
does the flood still recede around you
do you still see the deep world reflected in puddles
do you still see the world (in) (human) (form)
do you still like wearing someone else’s skin
do you (still) want to speak (with) (someone) (else’s) (voice)
do you still have the capacity to not see yourself
(do you still fall asleep in one world) (and wake up in another)
(do you still think) (that in time) (even this will pass)
do you still look at one thing and see another
do you (still) hear music (when) (there) (is) (no) (music)
do you still see the air on fire (reflected) (in) (someone’s) (eye)
do you also walk with me through those streets separated only by time (as) (I) (walk) (with) (you)
do your words (still) turn around in your mouth (and) (are) (spoken) (misunderstood)
do you still say things other people cannot hear
do you still remember the day the sun did not rise
do you still remember the smell of the warm sun (on) (your) (skin)
do you still nurture (primavera) flowers (in) (black) (velvet) (fields)
do you (still) hear the tall trees whispering (to) (you)
does the light still burn (brightly) in your eye
does the past (still) feel like wet warm clay (in) (your) (hands)
do you (still) hear the birds singing