perhappened
  • the mag
    • the issues
    • submit to the mag
  • the press
    • the chapbooks >
      • CALIFORNIA IS GOING TO HELL
      • body in motion
      • sun of daedalus / song of anticlea
    • submit to the press
  • support us
perhappened mag
issue 10: DAYDREAM

origins

HEATH JOSEPH WOOTEN
            I
 
Capture the infinity                
of distance between two men            
      in a jar. With a damp
          resembling
 
            a season that is always passed. A space
between the beginning
and me threatens
                  to close like a jaw. In the jar         a rag of a voice
 
                        like a pilot light burns
            away all the oxygen                with one greedy
whisper.           Speak:
 
            is always. In the jar. Capture. Two men.
 
                 Convex messages of glass. Dreams spilt
like a rib cage. Of poking
holes in the lid.           A season
                                    of infinity
of two men.












            II
 
The first man to love
the stars                                  
      thought they were teeth. I prefer to think
of instead.
If candle. If one          
 
                                    for every man’s face
I’ll ever touch. If burning
            is the consequence
       of one gas inside another.
 
The first man to love
                                    a man
      was instead.












            III
 
Come inside.
 
Tell me I’m beautiful.












            IV
 
I’m still learning the genetics of rage: which chromosome accounts
                        for the biting of the tongue, which accident of base sequencing
 
            births the brewing of a thunderhead. Put two men alone
      in a quiet and you’ve committed a violence. I believe this. I really do.




​






​
            V
 
Speak of two men and I’ll show
you the consequences. Speak like bones whittled
                  into weapons, cut the memory
out of my body. What I really mean
 
is that every origin comes with an end.
 
No I don’t.     
 
Speak. Into weapons. Pull chromosomes
      apart like you’re ripping
two lovers
      into a memory. What
I mean.                       
 
Two men. I really.
Your greediest whisper.
 
If every star was a jar that could hold
two men. If every man could hold
       me like the convex
of a jar. If I began
and I didn’t have to hold
                        the consequences. If I began with something
            other than a genetics. A brewing. An instead.
     I could be beautiful as a storm
 
                                    settling the dust. I prefer
the dream in which
                  I exist beside time rather than under it. I prefer
 
            the version where no origins,
there just is. And that’s enough.

Heath Joseph Wooten (he/him) is an MFA candidate at Northern Michigan University. He is an avid collector of cassettes and other obsolescences, and you can find his work in or forthcoming from mutiny!, Lammergeier, DEAR, and others.
perhappened mag
← back    issue 10: DAYDREAM    next →
header photo: ronan furuta (unsplash)

© 2020-22 perhappened LLC
  • the mag
    • the issues
    • submit to the mag
  • the press
    • the chapbooks >
      • CALIFORNIA IS GOING TO HELL
      • body in motion
      • sun of daedalus / song of anticlea
    • submit to the press
  • support us