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It is not the wild glare Of the world even that one dies in. -George Oppen Somewhere in America it says you must die, you know too much. -John Ashbery goodbye old face pour nous climate brief changlings you know waking in compressed dark the work felt inside of suffering that will not […]
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From Nigidius Figulus Reads the Stars (after Lucan)
For Peter O’Leary 1. When pendant forms fall, and the wind describes a line, forms follow. Smoke’s own common cause is clear, is law. Skin covers bone as smoke fills the form – law leaves one meaning for the yolk or none: death, or the origin of the wren. 2. High pine, sycamore, […]
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Eighteenth Amanita Ode : Equinox
Early spring’s unruly over- fecundation, that perfume-mash of June weather, the blooming, taffy-scented star magnolia, forsythias, crocuses, lilies the eye requires time to differentiate but lacks— the waxy sound of the ruffian wind. What stirs. In the earth. Seriously. What fruits in the soil’s cereal drum prepare to push up to the crust to join […]
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Fifteenth Amanita Ode : My Wife’s Cough
sounds like nothing else on Earth. Seals trapped in an underwater cavern barking in unison. Throbs of a chainsaw cutting into petrified cloud. Sonagrams of a witch’s cauldron. Pneumonia’s dynamite. A puzzling, detonated speech form. It’s a violence in her esoteric core sounded out in nocturnal code, a phlegmy mesh of hexes whose tissue mushrooms […]
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Ordinary Time
Subway preacher’s din of truth, he pities us, each and every redundancy, day in day out through tunnels, boxes on a chain Dios mio, Dios mio faces flicker in frames each in his own office. · · · Colicky boy, no words for what he knows he needs to hush some […]
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Time
Sun through sleet coppers a bare and brittle limb so underneath I see it, the sudden pavement, first naked corner, exactly where we stood yesterday in our boots and beside it emerge thawed clumps of edging sod. We gather fingers into a pulse knot and join the compact earth, loosening by dint of what else, […]
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Time
Giddy with self-light a mountain recedes, inheres. I can’t tell branches from outdated antennae in this noon blitz. Let’s paw together at the imminence, red silo cup tumbleweeds rattling by on their soiled white rims. The houses here have garages and the garages have… portholes, I guess. Single circular windows between the roof’s vee. It’s […]
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Sleepless Angles
are why furniture while legs row the hazard of blurting pipes because be caution certifiably this colors bones sway in curtains sound like penciled in the transom of thinking bloats as blank as night hoisted a ladder of if on terminal stilts
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Night Birds
Untitled Painting by Robert Corless, 1961, watercolor on paper. prep paper to resemble dusk, music for a pull-your-through reach-and-seek whites, blacks, mixed to a grey-first into a wet, sloping wash of manifold blues veined with thin red-currents and a foundational pink wash maybe these are painted with Coltrane bristles? […]