Rust flower.

New hands don't trust a prowessed thing and
New hands don't know where to go.

Clotting ferns in the distance
And everything you thought a showing
Flower could be

Was.

(Bits and pieces saying aloud, coupling might with what.)

Item.

Good news:

The West has been contained--

The one involving gunfighters

And ours.

A maze.

The verdure forgoes other forms of verdure.

We spent the afternoon
In a toothed hedge
Tunneling for the center--

Tunneling, too, for

A way to the landing.

The sobbing waters

For the great poet, Tu Fu

If I pedal back slowly
The flicker slows
In my favor.

I am a boy in
Shallow water.
It is in the berth

Of sufficiency that

I gather his Sun--

--light and warmth.

Poverty.

for SB

A half-smile enlivens the distance
As clouds collect
There.

In the promise of energy things move
And retreat from
Expectation.

What's more

That which was always loved is always loved,
Threads bare though they may be--

Staples buckled,
Hands short

Though they may be.

Errare humanum est.

To not persist in the mistake but
To bloom--I wonder,
Could we possibly be trusted with such
Crucial errors and
Tender shoulders?

The old provisional curtain.

The old provisional curtain is, as if vestigial to a bad dream, taking a while to fall; but we--luckily, discovered the inundation of light and fact instantly. There is wild foresight in hope.

Corruption.

It is a verifiable fact that the provision of
Arms

And what lies in heavenly arms

Wrests from tranquility

For reasons both hostile

And time-tried.

(My baby is gone.)

The crane.

The froth and fronds of the sun flood
All things. But

The tendrils of the crane are obstinate--
They remain.

Give in to flighty beauty, gluttonous crawlers--
What is taken leaves no trace
And what of the dearth
Will in greedy part be erased.

Food for everyone.

A bay for young ships,
That is what we need

From Nature--

A bay,
Cut one in the tenderest place:

Soft landings, food for everyone.

The heart and the cradle of light.

The distinction between the heart and the
Cradle of light
Is negligible,

Concerning at worst a fraction of a generation--

Like picking the rose in time from
The soil.

Like picking the rose from time, from
The spoils

Of spoils.

Food.

Know that,
Sonorous,
Mystery begets deafened mystery.

Cleft of incident's color we turned as ever to a book;
In this instance the recipe came to us by way of Barbara Kafka...

Bricks for young adults.

What a ring
In the richness that is everywhere.

Have you noticed the superiority of this hour,

How without a Mozart or a Melville

We quench sunsets and in our rifest privacies

rebuild them?

Purse.

What a word,
The purse.

Disturbed from it repositorial
Endowment,

Uncorrected
And flush.

Like lips--
Like lips!

To pursue to purse you.

My imagination is a dust ridden empty bag
But I purse at the sound of you,

Drenched by the succumbing music you impart,

The cloud lifts.

Of romance.

No policy in romance--

I want everything to be free
To be romance, to be my romance

As I am greedy.

Yank and see my feathers falling softly in space

Nude,

Touched by you.

Destroy power.

for the band, Crass.

Lies detail everything;
It's a shame we can't trust them.

What you gather is real, What you embrace,

Real,

Spelled out in a speech so
Reckless and calloused with
Carbunkles,

That to caress it is to accept its aboriginal
Rasp.


Since saying it is insufficient and telling it is
Merely fitting,

And since loving is a kind of disturbance

Since lies impart wine-like honey to words
Since lies pout with imprecise rigor
And the rasp grows from our familiarest corners

It will take a wild poison to corrupt
The corruption while you,
Garrulous and dirty,
Destroy power.

Maxfield Parrish.

As often as you are who you are
Remember how my faith blossomed
In the intrigue of your mark--

How I couldn't help it

How you lured me with the magnetism
Of an outstretched arm.

Dearest, I panted.

Evening.

Pieces of the palace
Fall upon us.

The dust is golden.

How wholly I have drunk of this careless
Wine

You brought from the leafen interior.

And how memory stirs in retribution.

Of cool bolts once intimate with contended space.

--gave.

A partiality.

The eponym of letters
Must not be confused with that which we use

For colors.

There for a duty to the Absolute goes the distinct strand

Of bruisy curses,

Blushing suggestions and a din of

Ochry suppressions.

It is reasonable to wonder,
"What's the difference? If each is so brilliant
And so eagerly infinite?"

There is in the former, too, a duty to earthly flowers--
Substantial in that it is how we know it.

But for the eagerness of the latter
It is a partiality,
Bereft of sex and wild complement.

To each.

To each a modesty in the countenance of rain.

Looking in you will see the aspect of a heat by which plants
Grow. And you will see

The tears of humankind falling.

To each the bravery of the verdure,
Throbbing in the leaves.

It must this resonance to each know discontent.

It must, after all, it must!

Cherry wine.

Cherry wine loses its effervescence when
You learn

What goes into it.

A honey river, a stone tomb--I cannot believe it,

The error in all cherries as they
Ruin curseless grace.

Oh,
--and curseless grace.

Basic sacrifice.

The misspending of one is as good as the misspending of another.
See this copper pile by the bed. Someone lost it,

And we upon sleeping discovered it.

Water.

Alive on the lips of our
Servants

And awake to our de
-mented

Possibility.

It hushes to be squeezed,
Quenches to be thought
Of.

What if what you dreamt of flowed so steadily
as to corrupt us and leave
concern negligible in

Shepherdship.

Sunset, here.

Sorrel grows along the shed line--

When the fence fell a ghost grew too.

And lemons, rising on sisterly limbs, climb.

Disorder.

The body is reckless as a fur coat
--and yet it wears one!

The body is snide as it apologizes for a
Blood transaction made

On the common side.

The body flips hides
And it derides the nails that bite into the bidden
Skin,

What a world lives between yes and oh alright...

Seating.

Spite made you request me and

Spite,
Let's face it, put you next to me.

In her hair.

Whole lives do not end in the middle, nor
Do they abruptly begin there.

Look at the simple one in her hair

Where waving fibers have one after another
Slipped out of the cord, away.

Burrs dig their teeth in, matted eyes prey,

Fraying the braided ends, with a messiness on
The lips that among half lives is coarse and sublime--

Is sublime.

Ingres.

There are certain paintings by the artist, Ingres, at which we must not be allowed to look. Draft and pass a law. We have in the course of the wannest propriety been incentivized: Dear girl you are pure violet sugar.

And and.

Clumsy as it is
We find the greatest grace
In error.

Whole pages have been ripped free,
And the remains give up

Typos.


See here, the conjunction

And its duplicate.

"The walk stood green against the gloss leaf-filtered light and and"

Movie-going.

It must be said between rented breaths:

Everything must hide in the observant soul

And fight in the frigid dark.

Order.

Without the merest of sophistication
The feral

Grasp our civility,

Its hostile interior.

The detail.

Let us not forget this
Symphony of thorns,

Nor this gust from our
Brethren.

Against all worldly hope we must with
Umbrellas no better than moths' wings

Progress.

The mysteries.

Who threw pennies from our car
To the distant creek below?

It might've been me so
Don't despair.

The dryness afterward in which we, partly
Nude,

Discover ourselves
Is itself an investigation.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

For Mark

What amount remains and what--
Did you count,
Was taken?

If everything aching stirs at once the days
And ultimate months
Will fortify

The land past this sentence with
Footprints

We imparted as we, wed to our wisdom or
fated schedule, left.

My love.

The bloom owes bluevein fungus and
An explanation
To you.

And the bloom fruits blued
In wicked spits
Upon the tomb and wadded

Word
For you.

The oboes of the lake.

First take into account
The oboes of the lake glistening,

It is as though, newcomer,
Looking was--momentous as it is, listening.

Remains.

Bold spokes once knew and colored the shoulders of
Humankind.

That is how we'll be discovered--

Not with dried bones or pyramid
Tombs. No,

Each symphonic reach will
Alight and teach

Those heavyclad kin of those
overly practical abodes

About the rewards lying in shadows, and
Journeys acted out amid
The peal of the sun.

The blues.

Where do you live
Under your guise of skin?

Where when the nightly patrol holds intruders and
Noise away

Does your residence leave light and stay?

And of that lantern
Kept on for the night,

Is guidance as susceptible--
Gargoyline and vigilant,

As the effect of the sad song,
The blue strafe of your binge?

The garden.

We achieve the hill of
The garden in tipping thrusts and

Adventures,

Invested with the neutralest of time, and an
Understanding--

Whichever its bent,

That we define ourselves between cobblings of
Awe

And excuses.