Tinkered with and updated.  This poem comes from the deathlike / crushing weight of inexorable neutrality, whether it comes from being underneath it, or the feeling of being regarded WITH it.  Christian Wiman once used the terms “my imagination goes dark”.  I imagine also that this might be what that feels like.

I am unmoved

Inexorable neutrality

Inert

unhelpful static

Declining chemistry

Stony stares fall across the landscape of a lithic profile

I am unmoved

I move no one

Expressionless are the faces that regard and then dismiss

Flat are the tones

who meet me in ringing

and then go on being

unmoved

I am unmoved

I move no one

The mass grave

of every love thought I ever conjured

makes an ugly muddy hammock for every love idea

I ever wondered

makes insidious the limbs that ever quivered

at any love gesture

I ever rendered

I am unmoved

I move no one

Make my bed a place

where sleep brings petals

and wood and metal joists

below a bed hanging in a room

Doused with herbs

pungent bundled fragrance

to still the air

around the room

where I lay unmoved

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