How to Move:
A Manual for Fulfilling Your Functions as a Human Being

by Lillian Nećakov

Embrace your socks
they are a small temple filled with boney martyrs
that will whisper you through the woods of blood

eat the streets
they are flooded with the waters of Caribou lake
they are policed by the spirits of cockeyed birds

smell the books
they are full of acid and love and lizards, waiting
to expunge the amber fog, you mistake for grace

listen to the statues
their patina is a waiting room filled with euphoria
where regrets appear as crushed skeletons

devour the grasses
this will allow you to drop your tomahawk and realize
the meat-eating rednecks are just an obese chimera

suck on rocks
they are a boulevard running through the city
on milk-white boyish legs, happy as a landslide

dance with the window
she will swirl you out of the hysterical morning
into a banjo-filled Nashville skyline

caress the dogs
their mange is simply a harbinger of rapture
infectious, delicious and free

drink the mannequins
they are prophets swimming in lagoons, ignoring traffic signals
boxing their way out of the deranged, goose-stepping parade.

PAINTING: Moon Dog by Rufino Tamayo (1973).

LN (2) copy

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Lillian Nećakov is the author of six books of poetry, numerous chapbooks, broadsides and leaflets. Her book, The Lake Contains an Emergency Room was shortlisted for the 2016 bpNichol chapbook award. During the 1980s, she ran a micro press called “The Surrealist Poets Gardening Association” and sold her books on Toronto’s Yonge Street. From 2010-2020, she ran the Boneshaker Reading series. She lives in Toronto and just might be working on a new book.