Dec 17, 2014 | Uncategorized
100.
All those things let go
one fish could be a hundred of them
rule by rhyme
you don’t see the anchors you see the
hulls
moth flies out of the fog the sun
easy weather for an alchemist
the brutal heteros all asleep
why do I love music music is always
somewhere else
back to London or Lascaux or on to
Jupiter
things shouldn’t lead to anything
things should always follow
there should be a cute lieutenant
leading them
into the cloud castle little darling
you woke up just in time to be
me.
101.
This is our hour
the first of the last time
the lion comes out from the hill and
claws those Christian garments off
battle at sea between the waves a
wave is war
the pull of gravity meets the push of
current and there you are
loud surf all night and the lion
looking at you
naked as the afternoon shingle beach
a cry
a gull and a lion and our time has
come at last
seize and be greedy there’s nothing
left but praise
and where bestow it this tawny
sunrise this mandolin plangent forenoon
all the subjunctives gush over your
lap
sea syntax one same as different as
the mother.
Dec 15, 2014 | Uncategorized
98.
A little bit of legal left I call it
mist
you call it sun in water vapor spread
honor Brownian movement throw old
letters away
don’t let me into your archive
a rat in grammar
in mesh of syntax mother-naked
the one foundation of your house
Szymanowski’s lost novel an alchemy
of sound
or sugar candle in the god wind
whoosh
Zuk he did it and bade me to L.Z.
less pants more paunch more tune than
tenor
the Romans had no word for it or kept
it to themselves.
99.
Sea pink was his poem I.H.F.
and a stone so stood J.M.
braving the Pacific calm
Hebridean storm St. Kilda’s poisoned
by birds
my week in Scotland original
Annandale
no need to tell you circus tales
sex on the floor while Abbot Sturlo
watched
a fish in the sky its shadow a
cathedral
did you remember to count the waves
they too have a cycle surfcasters ken
home in wee hours with creel asquirm
this is my theory of poetry.
Dec 14, 2014 | Uncategorized
96.
Loud sea last night I hear at dawn
new sun caught in sugar
else all grisaille the fog of morning
have we done dreaming yet or is
that gothic stonework still in place
the crowds in Latin
all the discontinuities make also a
continuum
as a hand makes everything it touches
its own
this bird all birds squeal a
blackbird in Ireland
land of tuneful sleep more sheep than
men
as every island is the same island
except Manhatta
a place where fish were never
plentiful
but from the ferries you could see
the sleek seals play.
97.
To be long as an epic and nothing
happen
boy with a lyre the size of an oak
tree
hands busier than the wind in its
strings
all words and no meaning
sex without babies
the first posthuman rises from my
couch
sonless in brightness and every girl
his daughter
the Touch Me Not of risen Jesus new
explained
because a story binds us to our
culture
and a song cuts free
all Coleridge no Wordsworth
the fable peters out in song.
Dec 13, 2014 | Uncategorized
94.
This is what happens to music when it
starts telling stories
how could it not be that’s why I grew
up with
Franz Kline sunrise over East River a
girl from Ecuador
I saw the color size of a man’s reach
stories fall out of the light
tells them into new situations: these are the colors
all the way from red to violet and
beyond
I come from Tenth Street just like
everybody else
another fin another siècle the boys
come marching home
the girls run away through the apple
blossoms
nothing changes the sickle sweeps the
moon away
the dark mumbles stories to its lone
self.
95.
Lay so nary hiding in her underpass
heed here such traffic over who in
arches dwell
failing Lascaux, we did it for the
silence
no air no sound or molecules of meaning
less plausible than spirit kinds
some unregistered messengers of sense
I touch you now despite the faraway
for every skin is weeks away as India
no matter where the boat is going
there is a better way of getting
there
takes longer tastes more pleasure on
the way
queen of heaven in her mandorla slips
into every me.
Dec 12, 2014 | Uncategorized
92.
So while the wind away until it’s
still
all sea and no container everything
belongs to me
let the roof slide off the sky the
sleepers show
dare their dreams to stand up half-dressed
to walk outside like decent pagans
forget all the words nibble rosehips
and why not
education only gives you bigger hands
after all those meager teachers one real
thing taught!
look like you did last night golden
ocher
America sky so far away but let me
see
mind takes hold the shape of thing
but not the thing
excitement of all the pale-eyed
deceiving.
93.
Finches like apples so there
we can know nothing of his struggle E.D. on C.O.
to know the first time what can’t be
known
unanswerable question the fall of
light
from the top of the hill you see your
limitations
places you know and names hold you in
you are a hostage of the street you
live on
a seminaried priest of what you see
out the window
everything owns us
will there ever be enough of me to go
around
thousands of years people have heard
the breathing of the sea
it’s time to hear the word it
says.
Recent Comments