Section 4
 
1. Jews are forbidden to raise 
   the national flag 
   or display the national colors.
2. However, they are allowed to display 
   the Jewish colors. 
 
   The exercise of this right 
   is protected by the State.
 
 
Section 5
 
1. Anyone who disregards 
   Section 1 
   is liable to penal servitude.
2. Anyone who disregards the prohibition 
   of Section 2 
   will be punished with imprisonment 
   or penal servitude.
3. Anyone who disregards the provisions 
   of Sections 3 or 4 
   will be punished with imprisonment 
   up to one year 
   or with a fine, 
   or with one 
   of these penalties. 
  
   The exercise of this right 
   is protected by the State.
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rose is arid
violet air, blue-
swaggered in heat;
in solar roux.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

as a terribly immanent, hourly reckoned, starborn-choired
light darkness qualifies inexactly, approaches writhing, roaring flowers

as a terribly immanent, hourly reckoned, starborn
light darkness qualifies inexactly, approaches writhing, roaring

as a terribly immanent, hourly reckoned
light darkness qualifies inexactly, approaches writhing

as a terribly immanent, hourly
light darkness qualifies inexactly, approaches

as a terribly immanent
light darkness qualifies inexactly

as a terribly
light darkness qualifies

as a
light, darkness

as
light

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty stories up, 
the math of traffic 
is light-- ordinals
of worlds no longer 
virginal-- the sky
awash upon the net
of sight-- a design 
of far birds rises
to equal-- dark suns
rapid cast to lose
the time-- and you
return to the room
unswayed-- what is 
good and wise if not
glorious-- murder
succeeds a hangnail
not love-- love is 
a word of generic
currency-- the moon 
is swallowed anyway.  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dust snows and snow dusts

arrivals home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

snow dusts ash--
the sun
warm as coal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

time is a throat/
 
              language levity--
    abrogated yawns empower 
 
 morning/ 
      a terpsichoral sloughing of awe 
 
   & dew--
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Idiot,

ideas of perfection as a corpse
slabbed upon background noise
(that one may exquisitely emulate
love, which too dies) arrive
as butterfly fallen away
as auctioned morning light--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

black man in a white house
white man in a black house

pine under midnight snow


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A is for Ambercorn
which feeds a race of angels
blind in a rain of light

B is for Beauty unbearable
broken into waters
these poplar take as wine

C is for Cassiopeia fallen
upon ephemeralities of mountain
each December hour

D is for Death divine

E is for Everything elsewhen--
a dataplex of futures
that then sinks beyond ken

F is for Fucking falsehood
which fills the caverns
of soul with somber stain

G is for Goodness uncertain
as a meal to a fly
upon wallpaper bouquet

H is for Holy human Hell

I is for I
which is idiocy in the context
of genius come as ocean bird

J is for Joy
the yell of stone in a well
a cat sigh, an impulse of flame

K is for Kings sensuous
and fat from Alberquerque
to Nepal

L is for Love of love

M is for Masquerade
of the fertile enmity (of the suns)
of butterfly and mind

N is for Nowt
notoriously untrue--
here is my foot

O is for Orgasm
more a shiver of contemplation
upon the taste of orange

P is for Pulchritude as etude

Q is for Quintessential
of which nothing is but contour
of disintegrating wave

R is for Resonance of rain
upon a snow iced upon a tarp
drawn over elm

S is for Sainthood
accidental and itself a curse
of little form

T is for Toward what I move

U is for Umber brushstrokes
of a memetic art
in a failure to seduce

V is for Volume voiced
in a marriage of whisper
pivoted upon coal

W is for White
which wisdom will never be--
it is nuclear blue

X is for Xero sufferance

Y is for You as mine

Z is for Zambercorn
which feeds a species of sorrow
sighted in a flood of night

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

little blessings
ballon
as the soul is the body
fluttering
over floorboards

as premonition
of what?--
despair and desire
as the common eternity
of days lithe

as crow
in winter sky
and i must
somehow perfectly say
love love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
off-white the sky upon off-black trees
the field between 
a standing mottlement of yellow 
clay and green 
as redwings opine aloud of what it is to sing 
with voices that were
a harmonious scream of autonomy 
now
 
                                      a coal train 
                        two miles north moves west 
                a block east a semi thunders south
                        in the yard's shallow snow
                                   a rabbit pulled
                                             still
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the plastic wrap of the stars tonight
holds; the houselights of the insomniacs
as scattered as; the ipod does not say
your name; the wind, o, so nearly so--

the delicate snow, a tease of lithe nails--
the world long numb within its sphere
of confluence; i scent hard at this cold
aftermath of you; yes, o, dark wisdoms--

whatever your want, o, i wish for you--
be it pity or praise; subtleties of dream
or stark awakening; madness or love--

or the bright fury of startled animals
lost within exquisite moonlessness--
the stars shiver-sunder, o, to breathe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                    snowing
             slowly
                            bouquet
   upon
                         bouquet
                                    upon
              
          warmth
                          not
                              of
                     temperature
 but
 
                             silence
         ubiquitously
 
                                   
 
                    holy.
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How to out-zero zero:

Make a useless point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

cold                   bright flakes move fiercely
bark                              bites into sound 
foal                         a history of elegance
plod         the slush that ponds upon cement caul
wasp                       worm and will will thaw
ward              children ill with age sane or no
less   than half of what you know you believe true
noon                           ever twins midnight 
deer                                           die
task                      the idiots of convention
moon           conceived then becomes newly mooned
mind                                    everything
keep                      vigilant and strike true
rest          when the least of great evils is you 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

said the ocean to the moonlight, 
   what do you think of me?
 
  o, deceptively disappearing,
     not too much--
   you're as blue as beauty can be,
       but you never shut up.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

do what you think best-- 
if that means being moral 
in a secular world, 
or cruel in contrast 
of a saccharine one--
if it means discounting
reason itself, to hear
the rationale of noise--
if it means knives
are your eyes and eyes
strike the film of light--
if it means nothing 
but that you die--
may thought do it best.
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

may your death haiku
be perfect; personally,
i'm betting against--
not because i know
how saturated thoughts
of death crystallize--
they do; you have hope--
i'm betting against because
stupidity's dumb--
you've already died
singing songs of beauty bled--
meaning words of love--

incidentally--
i know to abhor myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

my shadow
falls upon the mirror

my eyes close

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The prisoners dream of insects.
The chaplain speaks of sin.
The doctor reads of music.
The painter stinks of gin.
The salesman cries of nuance.
The fisherman pleads of shade.
The author hums of Portage.
The spinster spits of age.

The prisoners dream of insects.
The prison sighs of grace.
The angels scream of wisdom.
The winds imagine rain.

The prisoners dream of insects.
The heavens take up space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He often thought of her as a Maserati,
not in how she looked, but in the way 
he'd look from her smile to her eyes.
 
I also considered the same, but only 
after her quiet telling, with her hair
loose and shadowcasting crow upon a snow
of linen yet to be sullied by warmth.
 
Maybe so, I said. I know your hands 
as doves of soap and stone; your thighs
as fields, that if followed, spring 
a bed of moss fed upon blood and bone.
  
Today, I say otherwise: mountain lakes,
her eyes; her smile, night in its kiss
of star. I am math. She is cold and far.