Sleeveless.

Is it a jacket or an organ
You're turned away and hidden in?

It is, at any rate, ruined
By roving torrent
It is pulled across the wrest:

And it barely covers you.

First I hoped I would capture you naked,
Startled, and folding in.

Are you so certain to lie hidden from me?

My fascination slips out,
Buoyantly.

From the breeches.

Had a better direction been taken
And conditions prevailed
In our favor

Then perhaps this emergency might
Be a celebration.

We have, under the circumstances,
Been blessed

With all the silver of Heaven.
And the tears of Adam...

They too made the journey.

What wreckages of lines do we find drawn
On the distance though.

What I'll miss the most.

Reminders are scattered
All around,

Insentient and therefore incapable
Of change:

One you might see lies in smart
Girls, their eyes pitted with
Bottomless questions.

Another bats between fading buildings,
Their shutters shed, their privacy and
Style...so long.
Eventually we will forget where they are.
They'll just be gone.

A third reminder will be found in the wood itself,
In ash, rinds, and the wind that swifts to know us;
Nothing beyond that--nothing
In storage,

No one lone line of leftover data
Can explain the excess flooding in
Flooding out.

The past.

It was wild and everybody said so at the fire.
Kids left school with leaves of paper
Still falling...the letter grades...falling.

And your father's phone was dangling
From the desk. The voice--

Everybody left that day.

Eventually a rose
Blew in our

Way. Alternatives:

No.

(One of us would have to go back.)

Living outdoors.

History has a hidden chapter--well
Several
Of great foragers and lovers
Living outdoors.

Why we don't discuss it and why
Better biographies
Were never written must better
Be explained.

It is not as though our intellects or best
Our eyes
Failed to note... In a drainage
Ditch

For example

We found bones bleached at chew points,
Rusting golden
Crucifixes, hearts engraved in trees.
Nude land.

But what do you think--
Who was here before we ourselves gorged and
Retreated

From the galing directions?

Preposterous.

We may never pass this way again
But
What if...

What if memorization--
And
Not survival skills, dictates?

The gift then lies in the noticing.

See:

Everybody has a crotch at
Every turn of the body--

And each produces sweat,
Each encoded.

Someone loves you.

See, remember, work:

What if the path matted down is
Everything?

Huh?

Like we should alter our devious
Natural plans let alone

Alter our plans to discuss it...

Solubility.

We have two loves,
Neither corruptible:

The shape of it and
The strategy of our professions.

Look at the line going around the block,
Like shopping could

Corrupt, and therefore
Cure us of our...

The mystery of no science.

This is the mystery of no science
Ambulances,
Vacations in memory
And Seances.

Many diners love the taste of surprise,
Which, I admit, is nice.

But for me the fruit, the cadaverous appeal
The spice
Lies in the sense of skin.

It is as though, despite dirty plates
Girls and echoes,
This really happened.

Snow, 5:37 a.m..

The first gentle push of humanity found talent--
Stitch me up a curtain.
Make me a cane out of
Reaching wood.

Destroy the colony of moths eating me
Using sugar to fell their wings,
Using water, any heaviness really, that
Easiness to be--

To be.

Prevent, too, these caprices of magnificence
As what I build does not bleed,
But nor does it collect interest.

Allow for a before that I might
Return to it afterward,
Forgive my moment's pause,
My talent fights--it stutters.

You are awake I know,
And if awake means awake to me and
To me availed which though unlikely
Is ideal, then your talent is awake too,

Needing to correct,
By curtain or volition
A vulgarity not beholden to
Wishes.

The last drawn breath.

Years from now it will remain a marvel
To historians and their retinue
Of onlookers.

The cane that guides history will have
Prickled its way across the surface,
The shadow of the old man in tow
Like a caption will have stuttered.

Such impressive light will, rest assured,
Sustain. And those stories will
caress the dust, kiss
The magnificent difference.

How gasps will surround the relic,
And how restoration
Will seem superfluous to that fumbling
Sight:

-- the unbearable, or bearable..

Love.

The vine is alright,
Knowing enough about survival
In the humidty of the thaw

To thrive.

Even modest observation could tell you it rises at the source
And moves in each direction.

The rhizomic blur it leaves has devastated
Followers.

Now, there are groups who meet
On Tuesdays

To talk about
What next.

And truly--
They quiver and know not what--these denizens and
Desperate addicts unite
And want.


Their numbers of attendance indicate
Your menace
And that unfurling Color.

Honeymoon.

On the bare table was bread and some mackerel,
Oily and sunlit. Behind

The progenitor's portrait you found
A room.

The family, in turn,
Watched though his carved out eyes
How visitors took to things.

I don't mean spies, I mean progeny of the Firmament.

The palace.

The long table reached each end of the room.

I thought the grapes might succumb to the heat and spoil;
I ate nothing.

The curd of appetite stinks,
But in stinking hunger blossoms away
From the senses--

To finitude.


And what they hang on their walls, and what they hang on their walls

And what they hang on their walls.

Blight.

Immobile
Piece of it,

Adorned with V's for
Fives

Annotated,
Written down and
Cared for.

What did you do,
That only people, hiccupping cameras, looking to
Escape
Care for?

Device.

See the hem of evening,

How, in
It
--steadily and fast,
Everything melds,

Consequently slurs.

One can hope that the ripples of the hardened land echo
The ink,

Or that waves interrupt an otherwise safe
Passage.


If not we have surely promised in act
Something that in writing we must have been presumptuous to say
We could justify.

(You know, we don't build Love for a sprightly air,
Nor even for how it will look in seventy years--though we hope.

We build
It
Based on how the moment dictates, and we're only that strong.)

Wide-open spaces.

Likely an engineer could take a look
And control this water.

We should be wearing mitts, goggles,
Sunblock.

Luckily, mules are stupid and don't mind
What we bemoan--and cars
Don't feel a thing.

Grapes.

People were treated to heartburn, grinning,
Dinner was over.

The cat spread like a stain.

Neighborhood boys wrestled til the shutters were jogged
From the nearby window
And bathing moonlight crashed the bloated
Recovery.

Whoever might argue with American Gothic
In hunger

Could not
Lift a finger now.

Fortune cookie.

What parade you march, may it be made of cropped memories, corrosive batterings. What parade you march, might it endure you and never you and the rain it: Dubious flowers and of perfect colors bleeding their fortunate ways across your grasping hands. Those too, in the parade you march.

Column I.

Built in the fashion of a tower--
Perhaps the first ever.

None conceived a touch could exceed the treetops.

Suddenly there was an air of hope,
Confident surges and a creative passion inventive of color--

There came new light in the original shadow,
It too devised by human hands,

Reaching not for the nearest rungs of heaven
But fanning in provident mid-stretch
To curb the Sun.

Thumbprint.

No one is quite sure how
To handle you;

From one unbrokered inheritance to another
My advice is that you remain
Liquid.

And disturb the peace.

Begin as water must,
--or must have.

Drench what is everywhere,
Then worry about us.

Hindsight.

Stay unhealthy and dislocated,
Young people under blankets.
Swim in bad water,
Drink bad water,
Test bad water on your skin.

Stay in bed, but come out of your former
Sleep.

Carry those pails rich and brimming with
Silver light and dancing windows.

When light,
Years from now, you will agree,
Was scarce
You simply fetched it.

The air of sophistication.

A bell boasts the tone it hides in its
barrel body--

The tone negates it;
Nothing we share can be either divided
Or kept.

طوپقپو سرايى

I know this is just a movie
As surely,
As half-awake I dream

Take away my flesh, hide your inheritance.
Deign to estimate the haves.

Keep her in your eyes and the only good jewelry is stolen
Jewelry.

Now I must end the instruction.
This is not a movie:

You will prosecuted.

This circle and no other.

The sweetly explosive rush
Of the ocean
Braced us

For plump clouds cornering,
Clotting.

Perhaps it is that the wary were forewarned. The
Infinite had managed purpose and
Found
Completion.

Clause in midair.

--is an outlawed caustic
--is adapting from what heir?

--i

The devil.

What dry corner of our damp wreck
bereft of cobwebs
Knows us

As opposed to the vacancy
That is our wealth?

The devil.

The devil's first talent lies in merriment,
What's to come will come--

Why portend doom?


His second is sartorial--
His adornments and learned grace.
That the two alarm us with similarity is lost
On the lot.

In representation and a burgundy flourish do we decide

What futures we have.

Frost roof, fire kitchen.

We no longer have the winter flu,

--we eat red hots,
Fan ourselves, see ourselves

In each other.

Meditation.

Small things embrace deliberation.

See the heart, extricated;
The veins, arrested.

Nothing flows.

Be small and enjoy that nothing has
A number.

Swell when the variable fills your
Belly.

Rambunctious.

Most likely
You won't go home happy.

Most likely, too,
You will
Derive you:
Packed,

Fat,

Sentient, for sure,

But fat nonetheless.

See them through the steamed duck gut window, strafed
By aromas and grease
From the shift.

See expectation, poise.

Not for nothing:

See the beginning.

The actor.

I am a tree fallen in a popular road:
Science says the bough grows weary with fussing.

Then again,
Science says there is a bough.

Indecency.

Do you like the moon--
The molten discount thing that I gave you?

Once we were lowly,
Silvered in grease and labor with gaping eyes,
Wanting eyes.

There where your moon marked a rippling
Detente

The causality of light streaked with poetic
Bravado.

Do you see the gift in it?
This time the world did not so much enclose upon the miracle,
The miracle cleaved to the soiled cleft.

The world was like a dog, it obeyed with profound thirst.

Illumination music.

To learn the bagpipes
Can take a veritable lifetime of fumblings.

One must struggle with the knuckles, the valves,
The hips marbling against
form and gravity.

An amorphous thing that sings and can be found lamenting in the staff of air--
Though study defies it it's not so uncommon.

What is--
Pried against definition
--and too, against form and gravity is the
Nervous laughter engendered
By a learning grasp.

To whom is it not the illumination music?

And to the player who struggles
How is he to know success from the clamor of
Worldly noise at hand?

The nightly feed.

Sometimes I fall in love with just the

Beginning

And it's as though I've been contracted to

see it through.

There goes your kid down the slide,

There, the election results--

--he won.

There, a minute clutter from a helicopter team or

Beneficence. Upon further review

Yes,

He was safe.

Work.

A sly word dissolves

Leaving water

--and a stain.

Don't blame the elements for

Things in dreams and

Rehearsals

You swore you would

Account for, appraise,

--and take with you.

Dawn.

Wonder is a solution;

Just kids--

Tell them and catch your breath

No wonder is like the wonder

With which their

Slings fill

And their vows charge

The sun.

Brevity.

Imagine the curse of time

Doubling,

Impregnating itself.

Think unholy thoughts of you and your parents,

Hieronymus Bosch and

Doris Lessing.

Now squeeze it, tighten it,

pull it stressfully over an over-

Taxed body.

Make not the form suffer the strategy

When it ought suffer better for

Magdalenianism.

Coat of arms.

One can only be so beautiful.

One can only be so much.

The crest is disposed to display certain feathers,

--promissory bricks of silver.

--fanning claims.

We are normal to endure the coast,

The limitless march of skies,

Perforated, and soldiering off.

We are encouraged by their stoic maintenance of

The elements.

Magnetism has a limit to what it provides;

It isn't magic after all.

You will continue to have no money.

Try to understand;

be immense in appreciation

but try please.

Not everything is about

Have.

There is of course

A curse.

And there is the loyalty of nature,

which is like proliferative money

and the thousands

No names.

-they would blush.

The birch.

No one understands the birch,

How it heals.

Just wait for the details to

Peel away in

Leaflets.

Try to remember a few expressions, the bend,

The shape of the leaves.