Amber DiPietra

FROM falling in real time

tube

us as Loop-de-loop and One Track in our heads, respectively and often interchangeably. not identity, but circles and grids shape that curvature,

bodies, simply, Bubble 1 and Bubble 2. we take turns being 1 and 0

skim

the teacher explains

core emptiness

spatial support

Alexander Technique and Stephen Hawking,

an expanding universe,

everyone
touch your tongue

                              to the roof
of your mouth
(this is how
your head begins)

bubbles, some less probable than others

ramp

orthopedic sidewalk aprons it his own way;

here’s a thing make it work here’s a thing make it here’s a thing make it
work, then
try and cross
me hurtling steel

ossify, erode and begin again

spine

get into bed, roll to face the center. B2 rolls, unconscious arm clamping down before B1 can get to resting position. one leg in front of, one behind—slightly twisted, elbow arrested in the action of propelling. instantaneous comfort delayed, B2 whines, wait!

he shrieks, burrow! I burrow. I burrowed in and became zero

skim

stroke his back with the tips of fingers. Fabric particulate swirl—
graying behind the eyes, also beside us, above the bed, pulsing—
generates fractal arms,

sheaves mind from body, his windows tiled horizontally, unable to recall days or types of kin. mine irradiated, floodlight for a new bone structure, rattletrap, let us out,

cleaves the darkness of back with finger pads, our whole viscous mush from the shine of his lower lumbar/my metatarsals. gleaming, rinse. entire

plummeting, while mind still floats—two of us ejected over the ocean, an erasing conjoined sailing, blue indistinct from black. not what I wanted, pull back on the sleep throttle

tube

chute made of wire and tarpaulin, primary orange, flanking a building where construction is taking place

surgeon put the wrong knee in me, stomach
twists to figure out how to cut him

ground

just awake, sensation first returns to the mouth, lick the teeth to greet
the skull,
stick to his sticky arm in toward Venetian light,
be my twenty, forty, fifty years from now friend

static

Hawking (whose wife might be a tyrant) believes aliens will most certainly menace

B2: that Martian in Bugs Bunny, the verb to be, I took it off the bone
for you,

lolo lolo lo, over the cliff.

—-

Amber DiPietra is a poet and disability advocate. She teaches somatic writing classes (www.writetoconnect.blogspot.com) and practices palmetry: poiesis energy work. Her writings have appeared in several journals–including the anthologies Somatic Engagement and Beauty is a Verb. Waveform is her new chapbook, co-written with Denise Leto. An occasional performance artist, Amber shows at venues like the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.


Previous post:

Next post: