Monday, February 06, 2006

Five Short Poems

The work father stands in
all tenses at once, his arms ka'd to the shimmering
guts his goods to see so caught
up by inactive wilderness


history of the sun) on ur,
he plastike tekhne, her on her
knees dark wheels her infant sun
down her
crack into mantic hands, leaks to larkspur sheets
surge through sleep

singular, neuter
wrecked & heavy-lidded, likely alive


Taken by the rose she stalks above all the dark one, washed up
& straitened the eye, gone out to buy gamey cream
bouillon & a bulb for the lamp, mortuary sun, no water
Ever a wall weak doe drag itself to a clearing,
or veal at closing doth shine & shiver

immutable cities seduced from the earth
She dreamt again like someone truly evil
& you & I were there, in a house, in a maze, & on
& on we went through it like it was our own
mind, hour after hour sovereign, no bracken


Those shimmering nets, even if they do catch fish.
If you love them that dissolve, a snake with no tail.
Like death warmed over, then cold as a witch's teat.
Grotesque multiplication is a god.

Or a single deer of Chenrezi's, vanishing into the trees.

So much shifting & shimmering
that it seems not to shift or shimmer anymore.
Boils dry. In the morning the flowery coat skimmed off.
Look for them outside then.

They feed. They awe.


From a door a voice begs change, seek her dark, the stars are

interruptions in this waste, a woman asking change, sought her the dark stoppers
the vision. I came to this city to see crone climate I am always in,
sea chrome, dark foam & flotsam stars & handed her
a wineshit-gray nickel warmer than other coins, put in her hand I now saw
stretched from dark door & far from the heart. Ordered rose --
hips absolutely still -- water turned to blood -- at bottom
glass cup, returned to her with more change.
Something utterly transparent curtains the nothing that is not
transparent & hard to know -- fire escapes
by nostril & cruelly through the eye -- & forms
baroque inattention spawns flower at the mouth,
spare, some change.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

"The human face is an empty force, a field..."

The human face is an empty force, a field of death.
-- Artaud

[allegro, sotto voce]

hole or bath an orchid chute for sorry ecstasy
that broth awaits a wind to bear her seedy words as in
a bind and bound for depths of ecstasy
where worship of the shifting face would beat a baculus to in,
an age that time was rare for her
and broth a bone with meat and water maid
samadhi made where dread abacus flies
hymeneal and brute obivion in bacchic faces oscillate
and face disowned in salmon grass
to bring it to a head of late
and head for earth through strangle reed of acrid ecstasy

a rood mignon would have to have

and then recoup the memory

how virgin down alembic masks a taxidermy lovers seek
and fertile mirrors hail
a fishy cab a written down

so you don't want what can be seen
and seem to see desire out
to shroud what is not like itself
in subtle hairshirt transparent
where stud a tusk at dusk is meant
and minarets are penetrant to clotted milk in salty sky

crow an intestate man's effects

pulchritude of naked not
and pitted olive sepulchre
in spectral grass this earth this rot

a labored roar the weed the masks
I did not see your dogma through

underdog my dirty doxy

when an energy that evening swift undressed
articulated want to come
to luminary back to turn

itself again, a liminary
stone the words in father drive

She gone now now not mourn her

so slept fingers forced into the eyes

bare except for mask and speak
into an urn of air

and there a girl is getting in

-to the sky & one of her

makes it

how cornflower so drooled a thigh
is thrown over gibbous moon

fallen in spermatic snow

the others left her

all of them