Morgan Lucas Schuldt
Residuary
Bc the bodye—
lopsed, scrawned, convolved—
is ex-why.
As gape, is ex-thrall.
Bc the bodye—
so dullable, so diminished—
is attentions—
the sweet steady stabwork
through layer-names—
schema’s
stratal rather
for what’s
a slabbish slopping ago-thing.
Rack-lines & rank-mess.
Raw-red lapidaria
& redder dense
resistlessly skinned over
(w/ dayskin, w/nightskin).
Bc the bodye is
gentleness
when rinsed to see
the blode’s rote under-runs.
Its skeins & valves
for O’s efferent momentums.
Pinktricate deeps
put to grind,
overwhelming their cause
(as willingness & unwillingness)
over who else is belonged to.
Bc bodye—
no ampling word—
dims into grammar.
Is cubic contents dead-ending
at intending,
but as intend
love (at least)
of being tried.
Bc bodye’s the affliction.
An otherbody
vivid
out of knowwhere slowing.
A quick & brink we become
accompanied w/.
Lung ache. Lang-ache.
(What’s prone
stranded
in mapblack in subreds.)
My Indicatives,
when desire is weak be over, be done,
it will have seemed right
in this Unglish
to mean to outlust.
Extantsy (Or The Long Night In Phrase)
The mere existence of emphasis—
a tram O line .
O (that ‘ccurs) —
lust’s fed focus for the
little louds
& outs
of yore’s
on-and-on eloqwhence.
Nounsense for this sprent
This stelléd else—
disgathering night (its bulk
flicker-heavied).
While succinct succulents
(salting down, green)
teem as lean.
While—wike awade—we tend to
meaning to
too neateningly.
To language
& its many sudden lives.
As if we could make
—& w/ out awe—
the long night in a phrase.
Sounding
noose-rose & wormfence.
Sounding
fathomsuns & shivelight.
A l=u=n=g=u=a=g=e
violable—
hollow-bright.
Rescindence
What lasts come after decades
hands’ approaches?
When the interdarks’
cordoned gores
listlessen crescend & want
is a room waves make move
no psalt
can preserve or keep
preserve or keep.
This situation of meat,
this cut-short shut of mess stairs-slow—
in scants of fantasts fears fucking;
it makes no promises back.
O Thenatos
even in its sensefulness of night & day
(years of hours of attentions
languaged w/ openings)
the sky always an a‘s shade of blue
like skin
the a‘s shade of blue I cannot believe
my way out of.
Or whether we cld we—
what’s breathed about
& how the mouth makes boundaries
hands test
again,
tending & re-tending
w/ the eloquence of blood-rush.
Plainsong (For Two)
Botch or not,
this body
(so troped for)—
how hapless
& hand-to-mouth
each day has it.
Botch or not (or
mess of fix),
how, marrow-casually,
you’ll’ve
loved it
most. Its lasting.
Its ravel-song
sung thew—O
butcher reds,
O offal proof
! This
descript despite,
a half-riddance
slowing, now,
from purpose.
Slowing how
to dististances
(up | room |
| down | room).
The lent relenting
merely to relate
merely.
Linen-long.
Under scar-lights.
Morgan Lucas Schuldt died of complications from cystic fibrosis on Jan. 30, 2012, twelve days before his 34th birthday. Morgan earned an MFA in Poetry and an MA in Literature at the University of Arizona. He completed two book-length collections, Erros (Parlor Press, forthcoming) and Verge (Parlor Press, 2007). He also published three chapbooks, (as vanish, unespecially) (Flying Guillotine Press, 2012), L=u=N=G=U=A=G=E (Scantily Clad Press, 2009) and Otherhow (Kitchen Press, 2007). A writer of criticism, reviews and interviews, he was a mentor to many poets and a dedicated enthusiast of the work he loved, co-founding and editing CUE (A Journal of Prose Poetry), as well as editing CUE Editions, a chapbook series. The poems in Free Verse were first published in (as vanish, unespecially) by Flying Guillotine Press.