No stream of greater love advancing nowThan, singing, this mortality aloneThrough clay aflow immortally to you.
The Allegory of the Email
for Sarah F
We watch eggs break—bones picked out from several others. In an empty cable, next to a wall in shadow, so many theaters of voice converge, a shade of gray brought forward. Charlotte— the customer—her heart moves slow as water edges against her. Her hair is weather patterns— a spark pulling thru. Her hours are paint, William Blake, shark penises —under the wall we sit listening slowly to paws tap glass. Below, the town withers, twines its ropey recession around & around.
after Rosemarie Waldrop reading, UMaine Orono
why is my skin all over the place a pale connection of limbs / in webs / things burnt as food look into some computers being / monstrous lenses just wait it out shake your head to nod please to the feeling in keys squatter's of language / a mighty fine wind gingerly monetized & left in a ditch by a highway which cuts thru a wood flowering with loose names
[NB: I now remember why I quit using WordPress, it is damn near impossible to get your formatting right. So FYI this is not how the poem should actually look.]
that and o / and / after all / carry with them all the baggage she only interprets refutes there is a lot of money policy abducted Hades / flowers fell from her lap that she is abducted in ceaseless experimentation between the beetle and the idyll pastoral [philosopher] in parallax / in view of others too set in motion from idleness playing with the French reception vanguards of electric speaking in theory anything goes into 80 flowers and [old poet] rejects a leaden winter driving torpid boatloads to rejection of natures object over the is not / is known fugue of lungs to driven snow hardly reassuring images weeds pushing up in places deafened by credo and by melodic vegetables nostalgia: fake flower “make it [money]”
after Stephanie Young
she / likened to be grand so too she / diddled to influence over another broken-faced river to be programed with an image possible to write it with only to know how the pen marks yes / us / yes / in us image speaks of cruel downloads labeled to stacks of glass to strangled tables or rows of how we barely eager to be hay-blown ummm / beastly ganders flying making annoying noises all these people with mouth / always half the bad feelings in water unable to be listened to and / yet / also over cinched someone else in tyranny in a room / divides in a room another vocal tone toyed with so various carrion in legions cleans up the brain / the brain cleaned magnificent with school “the blue crayon of misery” stuck in our organs the question: do people move like money moves through rooms in houses / broken vessel moving through an apartment wall which weeps through the airport hall bleached white the bleach feeling its line / feeling its quality of line / depth / gaslight the tub /hangs / hung / feels itself masturbated / strangled and left out to forced air / to all circular moving in old parts of cities that were never young will masculine things go to movies or differently / will lethargy wear out
31 March 2011
every martyr is the jungle immune to its dollar’s itch casting weather systems forth into economic winter / dystopian / godless eternal debtors prison in brambles gold light touching endless kings & mangled folks caught under their trailers fake orgasms in front of TVs dressed like commercials * snow can be mashed like it waters their hard skin pugilism means fighting dummy endless rows of pines caught doing nothing breath helps dilute how filaments rust under waves terribly stealing heat from sleep standing like you’re fighting standing like loose teeth in rows or breath in the form of a face leaving the body empty the phone stealing the breath & for some the body the old transom affixed in rain I am still young but cannot feel it