Sunday, October 25, 2009

Targets Hit by Accident

And are we not just fragments
Sappho on the street corner
with a girl from Las Vegas
an empty room freshly painted
a mirror in the reflection of a lake
the dream of history reversing
out onto a funereal landscape
the water drop constellations
but I am not going to imagine you anymore
than I have to. One goes back to old sources
the ebb and flow of different species
of trees, the green moons of sleep
the endless fragrance of darkness
Are we not risking the next chapter
the abandoned lap, the fine result
that had easily come to us
O my dear nothing
your voice turned out to be
the same phantom
a tidal pool of words within earshot
It doesn't matter we've forgotten
the submerging months among
the fleeting absorptions
the loose daylight texture
the happy secrecy
the lucid cheerful insight
showing how much you know
etched into a cloud bank
against the ordinary eternity


Sunday, October 18, 2009

The explanation will be better than the poem itself

The difficulty has been extended
out from what it needs to be.
And there has been no special
isolation. There has been no
quite walks out in the autumn.
No trying to get at it
as if with the absence of life
brings one closer to it, and then
to what has gone on further
down the road because of a sound
you thought you were being beckoned by.
But we find we are only trying
to keep as a surprise for ourselves,
the buzzing uneaten colors
of fall, the water necklace, and fish streams
a couple of page turning episodes
that is probably a good lesson
for artists of all kind. A peripheral
text draining out of an accordion
like glint off the bay. The possibility
of illuminating the witness
as though everything in her has been left out.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

(sic)

Believe me bunny
I never meant to use the soap
and the toothpaste...yes
but only once.
I left the room
and the young their milk.
The fire pleases infinitesimally
and the ruddy nomadic geese
of course are a great instrument
and the dandilions poking
up their yup-yups
through the flagstones
help to measure the symmetry
I think I will eventually break
your heart like apple blossoms.
But now that you
are here in the flesh,
let me touch you.

All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon on your young sandy face the weight of the stars the body tasting like snow a slipcover of communic...