No More Songs
Sing goodbye to song in songs:
protest is dead
and song shakes
that weight of
being for
to take the shiny robe
of summer breeze and
ecstasy, the golden horn
of song
and imagine full
its elixir of abductions
and refusals.
song now serves the imaginary,
the secret catastrophe,
undone in its own
and open aftermath.
Jukebox Hero
Daydream is copied verbatim.
Its foreign alphabet keeps
what narrative fancy
makes real —
Fantasy abides little
precisions; feeds on
the slight incomprehensions
of what doesn’t fit
into the scene
of fullness:
the excluded body
in open extravagance
engages this and that
future as
here.
Rivendell
Make no place sing its realness
of endless light
and along the plain
encryptions of the withdrawn
the voice passes and doubles
in the analog technology
of small selves, songs and story.
Our Paintings
Under marvelous Titian sky
at road’s end
our slight errors
send animals
into the brush
after animals.
I suffered too the
murderous enchantment
and put on a lightbulb head —
fragile, luminous —
and lolled on the porch
awaiting dinner.