Monday, October 31, 2005

atonement

from 10 until 2, I have
this momentous fear

emblazoned, split
ushering off the table

wings attached to roads
attached to interstates

I want it to stop moving
yet its arms are still
hugging at the air

its yellow brown gel defying
my eight black bags

Sunday morning at the library


missing
antecedents
hackneyed with lighter versions
of themselves
this last and ever
over an empire’s safety
the reaching
of his trident
15 of them
in antiquated paces


these faces are gifts
operating at the loose ends
I’m sure you survived
wielding down the road
sleep this size again: fists under water
and from this, historians
constantly checking the city
sleeping on the church


bound in Coptic measure
the push-pull
admission of a pear
or drunkard flailing cobblestones
my accent, the way poverty
encrusts a lady minor
down to God’s fighting
his long-awaited golden stilts


to the hospice without power

elders respirating
in tubes
why bring them out onto the ground
why humiliate their leglessness
for a few volunteers
to meddle with

such a pathetic watering
of a backgammon page
a dumpster
purge to puddle, that violence
their May lives

just the measure of
spools

your curious eyes brought forward
into dice museums
moaning in
apparent reprimand


referencing the census again
how they
pursue their best interests
say they found the smog songs in the tree hollows

even park in the garage for free
I know this knot under prominent suspicion


free radicals find it strange
whence they come
respirating the interior
of her tribal patterns, judging her peeling paint
itching knowledge
you know
because they never turn their lights off

alibi is still an album
one iota of a gate
made of
that is
what is fallen
above all else having ink
I cleverly have fuel

this already cryptic swimming hole
above our lives


the corollary: taking down false letters, falsetto

to look from the self portrait’s point of view

the hardest thing is to manufacture

to make sense of what you’re talking about

the erasure of ambitions, arcs, crests, erasures and globes

and so the lesson, the really open one
remitted not by an expert

with arrows crying in oversimplification
that the wreck must step away
from itself

its temporary employees not mess
with this organ deck
but evasions, broken and colored 80s chairs
not relying but leveled

history written from
a patient’s point of
view

fighting inside all those cells
their mutinies
abutting emphases

not in this but a strata, a state
wherein attention lies

neither tranquil nor permanent
entering itself
raving in the room

he is the central plumber
not escaping buildings
nor evaporating

but blocking out the jetty
in spiral choreographs

a how-to story destined through
crystalline boy sounds

mimicking pursuits
the latch left open

that is
what’s left
heartless yet old
and funded
into the derivative bridgegrooms of
the actual
extending toward your eyes
and real fingers
God-like in bulbs
momentary like the Mayflower

that’s what it looks like

selected bibliographers laughing
on a walk together
such curious cameras

making a medieval body in air
unobstructed

or at least at the right moment

since this lateral, then, is nothing— a breach

toward do not touch
but it is damp

of his pupils
of a pen’s fish
disintegrating
the chain-rope making it easier
for the umbrella unannounced
large language found still in air
itself

a narrative now learning from the words
to drop and
keep dropping

after the buzzards have gyrated
a song and dance well-done

flouting their buckets back to orbit
to self-use
colliding here

and all of a sudden, non-existent space
opens up
for imagination and attention to occupy

an endless stream, cords of winter
riding down with time

cold as air condensed
anything but feet walking
collar and beam

you and Cicero have it all
at the party

forceful barrels of his breath
chosen and lost
each stanza being fully his and your last room

gentle robbers

gentle robbers churning forward
reaching their hands in

blunt untrained surgeons

where is the last prairie
how may the Fuhrer make more
the records
being so stacked on a sea in a family’s house
newly painted

the camera sits, broken, in a closet
the boat sways, weighted, blank

not the white panel you work for
the façade bracketing your books

but a pending disappointment
a hunger of a regal stature, indentured
only to find that an earthly paradise

is bloody

and instead of turning headdress to tourniquet
sack to patch
a search for new rivers, real estate

conquest so cerebral that even common electrics
are purchasable

so I, this fugitive, surrounded by helicopters
of my own devising
may repudiate my family tree
those arborists
shading this tablet
a double needle, sharp
the cross-stitch
being effectively stopped: a baton
caught mid-pattern

suspended
at this very complicated midriff

when all the film plays
the details therein
appear fruit convertible
you know the translation, the sound
that will come

from the backroom may emerge, all of those ghosts

you are a ghost, more than ghost
living not and so this company you seek

being not material, but toward the haunted act

squeezed exactly like this— incentivized

monologue for Charlotte

there are clouds
Colossus
into tiny
Eastlands and their icers
their pets

a red looped hat
a red loop
a red lou please I stole

Chinese plaster columns, sir
the creek that runs under Providence
what is its name?
the rock
the rocks

phonetically
that run through the subdivision

subdivisions, no as in a newspaper

no, as in a photograph
the sides of a Celtic vision, please excuse

my snagging of these monuments
purely bound by gardens
loved for their soft forms

it is simple: a hill has to be well-manicured
has to be downtrodden
onto one’s hard drive
to make pretty pine cones conical, profitable
forgotten prodigal

anyway
you know what I mean: a father

my father, he would drive on these signs
with lines going every-which-a-way

and we would just visit various offices

under about before within beneath and around

and these were the streets
and these were the signs

kind of an immersion
but you learn rather fast
to tether everything that’s peering at you

and, together, you have a hill
where there was none before