from In the Dampness Left

City Weight

The weight that is carried by all who hear it.
The weight that is redundant and passive.
Placed in the center of the city.
Partitioning center and city erect.
The damp pages and the soaked sheets.
The selection of the top to the bottom of all who hear it.
Of all who are here.
To lie against the species
The spoken lie, species.
To be supported this cover and then this calm.
This duration in the impossibility of speaking weight.

The name.
And the term.
And the body weight.
The city central.

Like slate.
Like granite.
Like name resistant, lie unspoken. Another name for metal. For put to sleep. The resistance that resumes, weight.

As all this particle theory becoming undone.

As damp is placed next to deposit.
As we are soaked and passive.
Demonstrating imperative. The split tree straining soaked.

A monument so far away from the body.
Far from the branches that have been taken.
The bundles that have been made.
Far from the soaked invective the screened injection.

A particle next to light. A further particle.

As we remember filigree. And wait and wait. To take a body from your hands.

To rise not from the ground but from the surface. The slab remembered the surfeit ingested. The silent surface inscription. Circumference.

A body next to this light. That is not a boundary. That is not a token taken. A picture remembered.

That is not a form of filigree ingested.

Far from the center that was the beginning.
Far from the ceiling that is the body.
Far from metastasized canals. The silent surfaces seamed

To other structures.
To other compartments of damp light. The overexposure. The under erasure. The monument that is a particle of existence.

Splayed open. As we remember the form but not from the center. The outer limits of existence. Partitioned to speak lies buried next to light.

I stand inside and wait.
Crush next to crèche.
Body next to belly.
Tall slabs of concrete meeting to mimic tree. The split invested. In presence. Buried next to building.

Many I’s forming monument and weight.
A we who can’t bear to be there.
And so give our name to there.
Our weight there.
Walking carefully through all the arms.
All the accents forming.
The rules, revision.
The shock of this ground of concrete.
Toppled by a water it can’t remember.

As one cell beats against another.
As this is also an I.
As we are faster than water.

The viaducts.
And the viable.
Becoming undone.
The viaducts.
And the particles interchangeable, inextricable, breath on breath water on water.

In all the partitions that have been planned to carry this weight away.

In all the groping.
In all the selection.
In all the carriage, container fluid. I can’t go far enough I can’t break near enough. A body that looses its ability to be built next to other bodies.

The canals courage and city.
The cells carefully planned out to resist inscription.
To carry water.
To reject inscription.

Moving through the impossibility the remnant the name.

The repository.
That is placed.
And free—you are interchangeable. What starts from ground what is faster than water.

A repository in someone else’s hands.

You can’t lie next to it.

Repose and remove.

A repository that is resumed.

That is moved.

By the confluence of an I ingesting stasis.

Forming and flow.


Melissa Buzzeo has worked as a counselor, curator, professor and palm reader. Her first full-length work, What Began Us, was published by Leon Works in 2007. A second, Face, is forthcoming this fall from BookThug. Translated into both French and Catalan, she is the author of three chapbooks—In the Garden of The Book, City M. and Near: a luminescence. She currently lives in Brooklyn.