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
save existence
as if it were ours to share
§
cut up, divided
occupied the oppidan
stunning prison to happen—
clever work for one
of many loaded guns
the awe feeling gone
the purse of life pricked
go home, undone feeling you feel
for a discrete history
though nonesuch
as morning comes
§
my place autres et pareilles
then several things
power you down
miedo as such
the phrase stranged
as every nonthought
thought as a favor
as a kind of fever breaks
quieted down, curious
frowning weight a failure
no a fault
night falls to fall
§
we know often
there is the wanting
of words to show
hope’s conceit
the I go on just to go
cold wake us
sleep us then too
flaking wink
so briefly to recall
breaking snapping light
the grievous thing
the key a symbol
for a key there is
no more being bent
a trend in similar affliction
to know always
I’ll not have the things
I don’t have
§
the future cache
spreading I “like”—
like a flower
a valve I’ve known
in that I’ve not said
a basic chord
piped all day
though no fire sprang
nor empty ringing
reformed my socket
§
ghost of some
I mean “my little mine”
unto a novel will
therefore as one
to feel as one feels
notes of which unload
like more light or less
as my blood opens
burns a solemn thing
it was once”
an artless scab
banked hollow
a rich wall to tell
–
the poorest detail
§
with the ball I wait
I am patient too
for the new generation
occasional absence
of each brick
the beast dispatched
the rules of which
in similar songs
together drone on
§
postule of light
no room with me denied
with me is me
the doorspace of
so that I feel less alone
trois two un
§
breathe might should
everything be locked
in a room darkly
and never stop—
toward love love goes
and so reach for the old lights
my sincerity shamefully flickering
as the light the light on the clouds at night”
§
is what out
be mended all naked
and in so completely
be quiet morning
be out being to echo
who lives in this house
swollen fleur
sound out
then there you are
shirtless
though as I wept
a gold weeping
I saw no gold
§
morning winter—
no morning is
a kind of fall
for dreaming
the trigger snapping
the target jerking
so there must be things
of the world or for it
that wave for ex. as it signs
itself anew on the shore
§
hunger rarely as none
so kindly feeds
kindly fleshes
there is something
I know and so prove it
mashing the blossom
reminds me of
an extra shingle
like you a grain of sand
as events are not flesh
so young a pain
to enter that nothing
shd a feeling stop you
smooth as the mind
of a child I fled
but like a city burning now
§
is against time”
the bright flower faded
the owners of faces
sunned over by our
same sun
for what if we escape
the self w out warning