Hold the Storm- Levi Bentley

A lassitude of body hung

Deepsea line strung

From a horseshoe

Shaped in the brain a physical location

That means “it gets better”

I mean, sorry

Deepsea seeing a few far-off rays

The last fighter jet is bittersweet

Going the way of the buffalo only

Because of a “better” apex predator

Audiating is musical envisioning

The shape of sound

What we find out is not new

What she feels i feel

Write the storm

Do the devotion

Iteration can help you to do

                                       the procedure

While forgetting

The procedure iteration becomes

                                     meditation becomes everything iteration

Strips your reliance on first

                                    thoughts and making sense the brain is


Get ahead of your editor

And the subtle brutality of life as


                                    a man is a laugh we see

                                    the moon has a shadow

                                    and exhale together

The body of the room all tuned

To some frequency of white out

Drifts and blasts and settles in asym-


The light of the moon and my deep-sea


                                    all pulled by one another

My heart on it’s string like a hooked fish

Some of us are trying to keep our hearts

                                 together and getting run aground although it’s

All that matters


The word that has a tone

Like a struck bowl

Don’t pour it all down one hole

The egg of the word

Home like a struck bowl

Is as many as you want it

Rolling into some baskets

One hellbound at least

                                     at hand

We learn our wholenesses in solitude the naught of a

Knot a round

A full bowl struck like awe

The egg comes first and finally

Came last and demanded our body the warmth and

Seized the hours of life

I say stop here

I want you not to get hurt

Remember the porcupine and the fox

The story about the problem of closeness

Your going out is that

Fierce space a kind of trust

Between our brittle little ego’d demands the ball of

The sky we rotate inside the air rotating slower than

Us seems to be going back as we look up into the color

And feel lost drifting while we hurtle.

What “we” is this? I guess just wishful

“i” with a door ajar and getting bet-

Ter at holding up

Some semaphore

Longing as a vestibule

Some trust is need some being at sea is only looking at the

Truth of being as by definition lost some song is learning

To die well some dying well is a good song with a beat

You can dance to

Illegible movement comes out in the hand

A seismic cacophony i mean auto- biography

I’m beginning to be able to not think

What i’m thinking

What a hand holds is the the last bit of storm

What a hand holds is the chaos of a particular

History if

I went there i might not return i am

Told i should not

And i am told that i should and i think there is a

Fear of bare

I think i should be able to

I think i shouldn’t have to

Keep swaying and humming buzz and

Sway and hum and buzz unable to think in words in

Only sounds

Barely there the moves are bent

Around each other swaying and

Breathing back around a ghost proj-

Ect i am self-haunting where that eye

Came from again keeps needing to

                  get let out aye eye ayh oh the soft animal i

I let it need its sharp angles and soft

Light its lovers and long sleeps and

Other anomalies

I love it i mean i work to continue all

The actions that will add up to love

At some indiscernible future point

I am told if i do it right if i do this thing

Enough times and in this

Way and so it is like prayer

I let the center run like a soft

Egg like ginger and honey and al-

Monds all glazed for breakfast like

Hot water showers and tea all the

Tears it wants to shed all the coffee

And sun

Okay in a room with people touch here for recognition the nudge that moves us sways us nudge of some-thing that can slosh just so into page and something that means smile and we keep smiling when we nudge are nudged like a palm open means something the rug holds the threads straight that means something could get trapped here if

Something were not left intentionally open

I can feel the words close down like

Clamps with little teeth with some-

Thing moving in the space between


We lay down

A soundtrack without thinking

A storm moves as itself it knows as

Moves as is it is itself out from un-

Der any name you give it it shapes

Itself and dissipates of threads weft

Of wind and pressure laying down

A blanket and leaving a storm is a

Hug we prepare ourselves against the touch because all

Force is force all

Wild is wild like a good buddhist the

Earth does not love us

A storm is nothing that can be sub-

Tracted from itself it is a series of

Events a combination of forces so

The edge of its identity is uncertain a

Storm exhales itself and inhales our

Light and heat and breathe and car-

Ries these things away

The storm takes our breath and we

Take its breath

I lay in my blue room looking at the

Blue snow

I go to a house before the storm

And leave after

And trek in its breath for hours not


I am not minding

My mind is not

Talk about the animal

The animal in the air

Can’t tell can’t help

Parts in the air parts

Against the rocks

Birds don’t sit they

Perch and a perch is a kind

Of fish

Sing from your animal

What she feels i feel

What we find out is not new

I’m typing fast with my eyes closed. Ai have no idea wht i’m

Saying but i feel like this whole think could be a poem

Without a lot of seiting.i am here in anderson looking at

The cheese walls the walls seem like pricks of soft cheese.

The letters areheld to the wall with brackets here, and my

Storm is complete. A blue light a stream of people. Deep

Lassitude, sleepy sleepy. Kind of tired out. Get- ting bagh to

The shacken up world where i know something moves

Wait- ing for it to come back to me. I am in it and it is in me.

The devotion to this is dumb, the best kind of dumb every-

Ond gets to relacw until the magic happens without

Feeling left out. I am only here in my corner doing my

Thing that is not about making you feel bad. I am here and

I am learning to stay here. I am tired and i wake up here. The

Faith of the thing seems to come to me now without my

Needing it. It’s like when you realize you can’t drown after

Falling into a lake and flailing. Always wait for your heart

To get tired of beating. Go to sleep and come back. These

Are the things i am saying to myself about this writ- ing.

Trying to feel what is a cloud of

Shifting sunlight goes back going

Away something at an angle oblique

An eye that clouds a cloud that

Shifts a shift that goes away a sound

That shifts a cloud that eyes a sun

That pulls back an angle of sun shift-

Ing a sharp shifting angle of sun that

Pulls back

How to leave an opening here in the

Fabric for escape

All the things moving

Between one another (unintelligible)

In language flowing through lan-

Guage in tones some tones more than


                                    the breadth of breath changes like a brush

A question about holiness begs the

Question i’ll say something about a

Series of spaces

                           maybe holiness is an arrangement of space

A breath is like a brush stroke

Stroke of brush like breath

Brushed breathing strokes

Stroked breath out in lines

Line an increment of breathing



Levi Bentley organizes the reading series Housework, edits the journal Boneless Skinless, writes for Artblog, and is a member of the artist collective Vox Populi. Poems from their project “Bucolic Eclogue” were released as a chapbook from Lamehouse Press in July 2016.
Chapbooks “Obstacle, Particle, Spectacle”, “&parts”, and “Stub Wilderness” were released from 89plus/LUMA Foundation, Damask Press, and Well Greased Press, respectively. Vitrine released their tape “Red Green Blue”. Poems have appeared through 491, Apiary, Bedfellows, BlazeVOX, Boog City, Elective Affinities, Fact-Simile, Gigantic Sequins, No Infinite, Madhouse, Maestra Vida, Magic Pictures, Painted Bride Quarterly, Small Po[r]tions, Stillwater Review, The Wanderer, Tinge and Truck. www.levibentley.com
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