The chains are tied across the door.  A little

black bird flies about my face, a merle

or an ousel, and we are helpless.  No reason to enthuse.

We sigh, we know they love us, and seeing

thick briers, are thrown into the midst of them.

That was not the aim of the revolution.

Shadows of birds cross a town in Ontario

and windows open onto a madhouse of machines.


Sing with me somehow, not turn vast

humanity to cogs.  On my eye the nettle

bush wallows helpless, not

to be hoodwinked by glamour.

We have got to get ourselves back to the garden.

I don’t know where I am.  Imagine the view.



Maybe harmony which

Is many things

Played all wrong or chord

This is your heart


Some language

Doesn’t ask for sleep but numbers


Sometimes a duet is

Two folks who sing at the same time


Trouble on roads

Where we’ve gone by Utah or Kansas

Wants instruments each

Eager to round the corner

Sometimes a duet is two

Eyes tell different


They sing this again

Again and again I

Can’t imagine a time

Could pull us lower



There is a vine that was here

planted, nowhere-tangible, and a vase

you brought home today.  It appears

preparing a room, taking root, a place

I may have been before.  Here is

what’s going on under you: violence

as a means is either lawmaking or

law-preserving.  Come to me, by fire


in the window. Only for you have the boughs

gone unto the river, hope eluding arms now.

Too late for a flood

filling the house with water.  Got

to make you understand.  Country girl,

I do not kill, I shall never establish the world.




Close me chimeric in music

Button in brass the cornered story

I mean corner’s


The kind of man I am

I want to feel more

American is a road sign


Is no war there is no

There is


Joomla SEF URLs by Artio

Buy Lana Turner #9

Issue 9 is HERE!

Order Now

@ltjournal on Twitter