“Now I am thinking of a specific desert
and the bloom of a lake upon my forearm.
A smoky cartoon, of you, ruinous arguer.
Scanning for a gorgon in the personnel.
But today, morning writes about police,
listening to southerners, & late pictures,
and to the bloom of a lake upon my forearm.
“Such a long period with your back to a train.
I remember it when we were brought down,
with your careful way about the hall.
You could not but chase after mystery uses.
At the skylight, was Lisa painterly? Was it Julie?
Those pairs of eyes grated the floors.
Was nothing but clamor of the pines.”
“And I know it. I know what to make of this.
Where the learning senses go on creepy patrol,
the curtain fights the cavern, nothing breaks up…it is
backward truck. What do I make now? Actor’s pinnacle.
Always eats with you & feels the safety. A Fountain
of Tricks of the Mind. Or an Aerosol of Light!
And still my learning senses strike out.
I shall bring this knowledge to New England…”
“But when I leave the trophy is tired!
Fast a family is closing in.
And I’m in love with Luis and Maria…
Love is perhaps the scientific rescuer,
For horrific burdens pack the streets.
Lovers are oxidized but are not lost.
Love tears a path through the hexagons…
& our animal corner lets itself in curtains
Having itself only to be dropped & released,
a dialectic experiment covering your brightness.”
“Wow, now the network has a real star!
This star eats everything, chickens
and fighters. But my quiet also cloaks
your beautiful face, never destroyed…
Anthologists shall not sever my tracks:
may diamonds pour from their Chryslers
onto the spiral soil at Abu-Simel,
relief from this is ageless as the grid.
Their brunette faces make intersection’s palace.
But a lily jacket will rise in the playoffs…
You say this all the way across the park.”
A stretch dispatcher has astringent voice
Ugh! Sirens and liberty’s sideburns
All the way up to the park, man
A woman is named Julia,
Young thing with burning teeth
And raven pants & castle hair
A soda in her arms & the bus
Voice comes from under visor
Mineshaft of meaning
Unfurls insouciant gases
We were only cleaning out
The street of its fortuitous passes
In muck avenue the hot chrysalis
Swath of meeting plurality & traces
Brunette faces make intersection’s palace
Bound for kitchenettes with minstrel faces