Saturday, January 24, 2009

What now.

Could be that it's just
As you left it,
A phrase embodying the dust,
A knockout spell,
Circumstantial to the climate, unnoticed
Bereft, it

Pries to the sun.

Here, listen,
A chorus designed to
Withstand the galing adversaries
Somnolent and externally bummed out
And remind who

Did what to what:

Check the line
Gunning away and left--
Clear the straggling scratch thought
Uplifted by the barking savvy of your balk
Harsh whispers 
Dictate route, shadow and type

To what.

The dust as was auld lang snow, falls, 
Softens the floors.
What was time is time, but it is over:
Go back.  That 
Whine of fingernail calls

Is the crying call. What,

There is no cabinet for the unbleached particulars, 
Darkly bereft of us? 
The last David dies in an   unlit avalanche.

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