Saturday, July 22, 2017

writing in water, evocation

I lie                                         between
                      don't we all                                                                              
memory                                    hope
                                                                           
                                                                                                                         
                         
                                                                                                   \/ocabunt
         we have impressed ourselves
                     in the rocks
                       and trees                                                                                   /\ocaverint

but can't resist

damnatio                         memoriae






                                                                        [nothing was here]





             edit

 make abridge
             over                                                                                      re
                                                                                                     vision                            /\/\
          troubled                                                                                                  visioun
                                                                                                          visio
We'll go down to the            river                                                                    videre
          go down           beautiful     the                                                               weid                          
                down       beautiful                                                                             wide
                              beautiful                                                                                river
                             river

We'll map the stones                                                                              and roots      stand      here
                                                                                                                on the riparian            and there
         return to the current                                      and                                    margins
     call it the same                                                                                                \/  /\
                                                                                                                       \/                   /\
name ourselves the same                                                                                         /\
                                     people                                                                               {[(birds)]}  /\

   All my ancestors                                                                                                  call
                                                                                                          have called            continue calling
drowned in the deeps  

          not me                                                                                                     vocaverant
                                                                                           vocant  
                                                                                            \/ocabant           /\/\
                                                                                             vocaverunt          
                                                between
                      don't we all          
memory                                    hope

                                                              {[(/\/\)]}

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

I still have love
although worn thin
stained in places
like the remains of an heirloom coat
I did not care for properly
or time worked its inevitable wonder
but this same object
is another object now
the luxury which warmed my grandmother
I carry as a handkerchief

recipe

none of these things are real
                                                of course
none of these                                           are
but I am                                                         anyway
in the kitchen
                             cooking
there is                                      an intermittent hiss
from the stove
where the water meets the blue and yellow flame
a scent too
from where I have piled lavender blossoms
to smolder
and the potatoes have boiled                                                  now
the pasta is still cold
a lemon is lonely on a board
yellower than the laminate counter
as yellow as the flames

I left it dirty         the board               wiped but unscrubbed
as though I were a cowboy
a cowboy    who                  zests               lemons
but             who is               to say            they didn't

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Sans

As a stream of pale yellow pressed out of me
I bent to inspect
And in the stream were old words 
Histories,
 reasons
Phrases of Fagles' Iliad
 Other canon crystals
With all their supposed import
Childhood conversations corrupted through cloning (dream repetition, bragged assertions)
So many loves felt intensely
And intentions I swore were digested
All and more
 wept away in urinary tears
  Blood would be cleaner

I have swallowed living rivers
But I can not hold them
Any more than the earth



Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Mourning coffee

This day              (time being a painted pony)
        Which goes without me
 and I            (And observation making it so)         were   
  / Wereday : a transmutable dayman,   
/And the words transform with the /apostrophe which are moons of the word  
/("We are" [but are we])
                    
doing well together 
                  (and would I do well to get her)
                           (Would she have me)
Having begun
        Or continued 
After a sleep
        (Where the sun dreams I cannot go)
And risen
                  (Despite old satan Xeno)
And walked on
               (I having marched in place and the 
                 Cosmos beneath me giving way)
And the diner sandwich
        (despite the ketchup <... in connemara>
   (I having asked for none and yet received)
     (Thus it is sacred ketchup. Dyed for me)
And the coffee
   ( come from the sweat of the earth )
     (Come From The Toil of 1000s)
       (Alchemy perfected at last)
        (Blood and Base made High)
And bus and train spun in my orbit
And I cometlike 
Stardust
Streetdust
Galactic (though my coffee was black)
               Traveler
                             Of
      *                 PHILADELPHIA
  wherein we orbit the Son of William Penn
The son being eternal (unto its end )
The penn being eternal (unto its end )
From planet NEast
To planet West

Until 
         In a moment (as all events)
         In an instant (though the coffee was brewed)
    Without warning (though inevitable to the eyes of history, as all tragedy)
   The coffee rebelled (retaining the homeopathic vibrations of exploited labor)
And traveled (in the way of capillary adhesion and cohesion)  (In the way of electric charge) (in the way of pressure dynamic) (in the way as scientists would say of "water is wet") (in the way of alchemical hermetic magnetic heat and cold) (in the way of ironic movement) (in the way of manifestation out of the infinite void og potential states)
From my mouth
To my nose

Whereon
In a sputtering snort
Was made a day
With me in it
And it was not good

Thursday, June 1, 2017

This is just unacceptable

Those plums
Were my breakfast
As you surmised

What the fuck dude
You need to move out

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Gods of simplicity 2

                                                                                do
   Before the detonation
              (which outside time is not before)
The bomb is like a note of music
                                 or like the string
        Unstruck

What is it to be

Complicit in time
                                          la
Only contemplating immo tion
From the crest of the wave

There are faces in the sea
Not the faces of the living

Looking up from before the pleistocene
                     at our contemplation

The light between us and them
Is particulate 
One
  One before two
And the deadly flash 
And black rain

We see             one another
      Through time

Make music Of the order 
which makes their faces ours
Which defines their features
Burns away all possibility
Sets one note 
One key

C become
Death 

Every bomb we have imagined
Sings in the air

Every child of our generations
Finds harmony

Time moves the song
And the light
And the fire