Sep 25, 2014 | Uncategorized
13.
Her body
changed while she was away from it.
When she came home
the legs were longer, the floor
seemed a long way down,
thinner, less interesting.
She bought a book
to tell her what to do
but all it said was I love you,
a useless sentiment at the best of times—
She dreamed she was a chandelier
and streamed light down to fill an empty room
by then the ground was really far away.
Sep 25, 2014 | Uncategorized
12.
The sly beauty of the actual,
that’s all.
Leave behind you bits of paper
scribbled up with writing
they’ll find the right ones
eventually,
your
zettelbuch,
you can be sure of that—
nothing is ever lost, alas.
Sep 24, 2014 | Uncategorized
11.
Think of it as an art show
an opening,
you’re
standing
around waiting
for the pictures to open,
you understand the brie
on the gluten-free cracker,
sipping Saratoga,
is that
supposed to be a cow?
And there’s a woman with green eyes
how well the artist caught the fear in them.
Or is she a man.
Or is it a mirror.
Sep 23, 2014 | Uncategorized
10.
Pay no attention when
they talk about the world.
Nothing to be said about it
it didn’t already say for itself.
So shush, hush,
talk about something you
well if you don’t understand it
at least you want,
or want it, or even
remember,
say
the taste
of fish after you cut yourself on the can.
Sep 22, 2014 | Uncategorized
9.
But it all comes down
to coming down.
Standing is more exhausting than walking,
when you walk
you lift the world,
snatches of levity
hoist you before the fall,
red books on a lazy table
students hiding from whom they read,
peeking sometimes through masked eyes,
they know something’s
buried in there.
David Jones,
George Barker, Thomas Vaughan,
Thomas Browne.
The
alchemy is all
in
the waiting, in paying
attention.
In the athanor of the skull
a deathless peace.
Soul by soul the world escape.
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