Sunday, November 12, 2017

Three Poems, October, 2017


within our sleep
dreaming together a world
too much rapid-fire non-sense
jumping the guns
out in the wild west
or in catalan
amid the many
in the one
I cannot fathom
the trigger
but a cause
for alarm asks
where are we going
whose holier
storm of selva
oscura are we
paying for
 listen, details, in the slick
from outside-in
tumbling inside
out in the day
the face
the die cast
once human
by cloud.
I can look out only
then glance
then forth
short of the vile
and live a while
longer & see


Annoyments of Resizing
aka Back Button

signal to me
your relativity
& my bane of decisions
never leaving peculiarity aside
disassembling incisions
only to cut & hastily
paste them back
into leap space gap across
the paradox of density
where infinitely
tiny slats occupy
fractal galaxies of
unknown inbetweens
blocked from view
& driving language
mad with reversal
trying to top
arrows of time


For Some

Poetry is like an oyster
the girl jet black or her hair
stepping back to graze
upon her image in the glass she passes
-- unawares --
without pause a privilege
to be her ear's mirror
wrapped in gainful employment
& striding with vigor
as she pins the flame-tipped letters
upon the air her radical fingers
weave with indifferent fury

For some, elegantly strewn
chestnut leaves in the gutter
sharply breed storm
in the lungs and quicken
the curling of toes into shoes
that glimmer of catkins,
 the edgy humor,
 of moon's last passage
-- that could be, just the thing...

Other people, however
 discern little music
in the duck-stutter & flash
of conglomerate algae
sunken in the pond, dotted
by concentric circlets
invisible raindrops
maybe cause

 And some yet
paint in stillness
the leopard-eyes' rods and cones
their own jungle geometries
scratch into codes
written as silent satellites
beyond the limits of the sky
wherein one imagines
the one thing
we all have known.

The nothing we have in common.

Dominion of darkness
embossed or etched stars
of goddess Nut overarching
Fear and fear-cancelling fear
for the tremors in the first Earth of me
I have forgiven unforetold
the hundredfold ebonite scars,
or maybe simply
I have forgotten

Open light wet on the grasses
where pigeons peck their infinite lunches
until as one flock as if one wing
they as you I and all cardinal
points appear to disappear

 Dropping as a canopy of stars elsewhere
the yellow leaves
autumnal dreams, such as these
Hyperion heaves, with groaning
Words-- only to those who speak English--
or to those also audient
for hidden worlds
where all Earths fall apart

.to pieces

.memory gathers

for some, for others...

October, 5, 2017

No comments: