Thursday, August 9, 2012


Truly the unseen wind had little but your nice body for
  its teeth—David Jones, Anathemata

I’ll not so much as to myself lisp lies,
And think with ears world-deaf that when (and yes,
It is a “when”) you die I’ll be with you—

For it will happen near trees I have never seen,
Surrounded by harmonics of grass and frogs
Indigenous to dirts and rivers you maywill choose as home.

And “will” is well, and “well” weal bad? or “good”,
But “may” never so weals sufficience quite
Efficient to doubt a doubt, nor our lives

Lived long enough to rout the stake of ancient
Pottery, papyrus, or rusted Pontiac brakes.
Memory seeps soggy as Kellogg flakes,

And still no snap, crackle, or pop pululating Krisp
Days hemp-taut with not-taking-for-granting;
Every shared meal morphs a fulcrum pivot,

And that which is streamed in like steady water bills
Is oared away till waves slack as untrained lasso
Tongue wind into dimples which prove nothing but divots--

“It costs, dear, to be na deaf, dead nor dumb--
Evewhen loved as abed’s pursedsleeping lips,
Or morning’s blue light shown on-your-side-naked hips.

Small hillock to dust some day of all takenkissed—
Will, mere your moles even, weal graying fertile ground…”

“Love’s what’s been or lost, not finding, found.
 One morning’s see-ya-later’s one morning’s goodbye;
 ‘S what your dear’l mum said and then she died.”

No comments:

Post a Comment