Saturday, January 29, 2011

On the land.

Love is earthly and fast,
And it breaks each morning.

Look first to the traffic beyond the field.

How many stars must have gone dim
Waiting the last
Scant hours for the custodianship
of Light's harp?

And how much of its unseen collision--
Its dust,

Has seeded the field.

The courtship of good words.

Bold classmen's tempests who have collapsed in
White grief on the ocean

And the staring distance that so like a dog
Eats without content or pause,

All things have your hungers known,

Never passing one another,
Yet the growling in their imperiled senses
Gathers you all dearly, with not if,
But just how, down, do we go now.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Bad dream.

An assiduous storm comes on,
In hissing bequeathes its dawn.

The wolf wind of its hymn,
Now dim, begins.

In the furze of its earliest

Goes a black bullwhip
Of its whispering grin.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Baking bread.

Rote hands grow sore from turning the dough,
The wind has fallen off.

Here and there the expectation of broken bread

The restoration of air is a humble enterprise--
It begins with nothing.

Friday, January 14, 2011


When the girl in the shell said, Decent
She didn't err and say Decency,


There's light upon the ribbon
That caters to the box.

See, Sprung very early free:
Pink and innocent-reminding and useless

As a stick of gum packed with baseball cards:

Discover outwardly.


You can hate the dirty grass,
And no one would reproach you.

But boast and this congress will make the bitterest most of it.

Kiss less of its green, Injure your knees less.

Draw romantic bees less,
Get honey, honey, honey less.

Test humblest carnation distress...

The chop of nature will cleave your ash-colored skull--A lawn stain,
Pink with memory.

Thursday, January 13, 2011


Erring complicates the way on the road
But none of the beams of light.

Miraculously, a custodial trench of grass will stand at attention
In what was once considered
The dark minutes.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Of panic.

The rest of these tears were lost before they were mine.
Darkness preferred the land and left us
To the lonesome of the sky and no good path.

The wall born of earth and the star lit about
Have collaborated on a dim corridor.

Here sailed the ambitions of other travelers;
Here the course of birds
Unchallenged in their buoyant way.

The narrow.

Isn't the gorge in autumn deeper than ever?
See the bloated whalish shadows passing by.

Is that the bull bow of a ghost there,
With the stricture of the dead's


Saturday, January 1, 2011

The shadow of a bird rarely depicted in flight.

The raw gut of the crane seldom seen
Bears wind from the wing

And the thunder of emptiness.

Photographed standing
Its still eye holds an amusing crystal

Of the sterile heavens.