ugc.
Apr 25, 2007
conception is the better part of valor--
valor itself, so much fal
se honor-- so many downhill steps made easy
by gravity and the dust of emotion
and dew, to uncertain degree
and the whip is the lettered charge of concept
into the back that is flesh and is not flesh for being mind
or, as we slide and forgive and slip it in
--
flies barn barn flies
which is nothing if nothing is not trite
finally not killing the geese
one would raise in the wood
Apr 23, 2007
to those who mimic the imaginary
to better imagine
the collapse into a stream of scarce droplets
still dry
as the fires of heaven
upon lakes of hell
where the fish turn as fasts of clocks
finding no rest
that doesn't already exist
to them then this
forgive yourself nothing
but that you have no regret of dying
upon these ladders that seem with death
Apr 20, 2007
i'm flowing over your mouth with my mind
as the funereal trees conspire
and the heart expands again, a flower
of bees without master, a sign
of nonsense greater than the winter
which bides before each spring
of eyes pitch and hazel, and blue
as well as gold, realigned
and my mouth is a mouse of water
as all words weigh as grey and mossy
as an ounce of intricate mud
in true-drawn light, i float as rivers
gone and rivers going, over your mouth
an ocean upon a stream as the trees
i'm flowing over your mouth with my mind
as the funereal trees conspire
with elegance
the great night neither mask
nor dream
and you breathe
there are cool fires glowing centers
in everything a starry seed
more than window that lessens breeze
and you breathe and i do not see
the forest hare for the droppings
of dog and deer and the white trash
of moonlight and men
and time in its essence
so much coin without end
and you breathe but i do not know
and you breathe
Apr 15, 2007
i don't even care
that the universe disperses
in the slow pulse of rivers
and reversals of contortion
nor do i wonder why
the method is the mayhem
in the cocks of shrews
as the clocks of mood
curlicue at this thunder
that rushes poor lightning
insignifigant in wind
no i do not care
as i take the sword from its scabbard
as i like water charge
the air tremelodiously
so much dissent in darkness
Apr 13, 2007
we meet where our branches fork
and our branches forking meet
to the rot of fruit and flower
and a head hung in laughter
which is anywhere forkings meet
not discussing kings i suppose
but laughter slick as sleet
and as oilcloth recoiling
to arabesque and serenade
windblown mirrorshades
of rot and flower following
the swell and broken swallow
of shallows rising well
Apr 11, 2007
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