the darkest thoughts are trees


whose father was a gull
              whose mother was the sea
one of the supremes
              the child is alarming
its grave is so clean
              what a terror filling it in
    

touch is a form of speech
               close your eyes to imagine
open them  to remember
               forms are firm, shapes shift
a box is always a box
               even when collapsed


no such thing as inside a picture
               everything’s outside
as history’s outside time
               a sculpture’s outside granite
but the grain of wood knows
               what shape it really is
 

 

 

 




     the count is down to none




our time sickness endures
              desire is at its source
we’re ‘much too far from shore’
              but we’ve guessed wrong before
thought is an object
              of only one dimension


crimes of the heart
             confetti all over the bed
mother and father
             travel without a map
one twisted, one deviant being
             when love is being made


infinity’s only problem
             is the time it has to spend
space it must defend
             it renders unto the dreamer
a lifetime of kneeling
             before the word ‘intention’


 

 

 

 



      one size fits all being




mariners who can’t swim
              somehow refuse to drown
scratching the water’s surface
              fingertips shining
then mind is out of time
              as well we know happens


the youngest god
              is covered with wrinkles
the oldest are smooth-skinned
              who eats his prey eats me
the one left behind
              is the one who never returns


a god has no language
              can’t hear us thinking
exists as the space
              between place and map
poetry stands alone
              its numbers unnamed
the count is down to none
              no one, noon


 

 

 




     close your eyes to imagine




you can’t play dead for long
               it makes people nervous
and death is so private
               it misses the point entirely
our amusements need us
               onstage and at the wedding


there’s a way out of your senses
               underground, to the east
where the emperor’s army was buried
               don’t crouch in your grave
lie as flat as you can
               so it will know you’re there


genie, genius, spirit
               machinic means have struck
a blow we won’t survive
               rival hours are passing
no bees in the hive, no hive
               sound returns to its bell
 





 

 

 

 

      sound returns to its bell




the absolute if there is one
              the darkest thoughts are trees
with a hint of light behind them
              life has been and is
a miracle death discovers
              in the farthest well-lit room


what had been silent
              staggers back to its voice
consolation roars
              only the sound of life
houses without doors
    

moral fish and moral laws
              let me sink my teeth in that
now that all is gone
              this thought is on its own
go, my carrion nouns
              seek what you have found
 

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