twenty-first century
Welcome home
to garnets and moon-lit shores.
The improbable seeming
success of you-
(us designers-creators)
was always known to me
on that first day in the long hallway
my near-constant
Mars Mission.
Are you the sun, or am I?
Are you the planet of stars
and oceans and trees and ferns
and I the volcano
of ash and noise?
Wise men, watch over us
protect us from our ancient enemies.
*
Sassafrass my ass, said he
and pulled the house down. Siege me
strategix into me. Sensation is the
highest living force to date. Troubadour
did you me tur et true ever more
forgettable? Ah, good thing I spell
with my fingers in green grass yellow.
Glad almighty once sacked my door.
*
Little motion cannot resist
the whale shaped shadow
which I know to be verval.
A minor steppe flings you
far from door. Lucky, aware,
skysure,
*
You come in straight lines
Recess, and just like that
we're off to bed, your ear
is my mouth, I'd speak it so
Samba jazz in the panama hat
I'll write up an excuse note
*
Why you drive so fast
is why I sing so loud is why
the leaves cling to our bodies
Speeding into the middle
lane highway-philosopher's travel-
is why my head hangs
Cycloptic monsters
Ghosts
Emanations
Greek humors
The dancing never stops
I feel so lively
Hands upon me, this is why
The way we speak it so.
*
Mr. Speaking, I can't quite hear you,
though I want to because your long lean
body high up in the apple tree, torso as
balancing branch, pulls the leaves apart.
I shake at the telephone cord connecting
us, and knock a few red maple leaves
of my own. I am thinking, which only you
will be able to see and hear, as to the taste-
well, I know your likes and dislikes:
the golden mean of long causal sentences
these I tracked before I even knew your long
ago. Once I sat in the sun under a straw hat
reading the classics until my eyes gave out
and the sound of the lake was heard by my
ill-trained ears, my lips dry with listening,
there, on the pier, you striding up to pass
without a word, Mr. Speaking,
Mrs. Speaking here, come to ask you.
*
Quiet with the shoehorn:
Morning begins
rearranging a large bouquet
into a smaller, more alive one.
Two tiny deeds, gentle & intentional.
When times are good,
it is easy to be good-
I praise you
a complete square
a person worthy of praise
and I am willing.
*
Revered one, you are
not only
but an ally.
We study
only to know
only to become
disregarding the Roman way.
*
Sassafrass, the noise is deafening, defeating
OTHERWISE UNGODLY. what's his face
was looking for you, what I say?
None not his beeswax & wouldn't he
like to know how the rest of us
carry on, carousel across the playing
field of rain, rain, rain
never without a rest the blows always come.
*
My year-long interest
in how the gravel travels
slowly in your mouth
(the stem knows the root
before its growing) (the moon smiles down
on your archangel looks)
how the life fluid draining?
*
Man, your underwater holes,
sacred recessed pumice leaves,
are now more vacant than you yourself.
I will see to the flora handsome
when it shakes your hand, remembering
the infinitely branching earthing tree
and as a flock of birds flies cactus-like,
several seablooms undulate, breathe.
Closed man-flower, you have no noise.
Greek laurel leaves positioned as full
stemmed ovaries have a louder cry
like that of green seaweed functioning
in the thickest part, star-lifting flowers
to their veiled parts. Only certain firebirds can
move the heavy brain-head. Rising up
between the waves, a sea monster's trident.
*
Places in the sun I would like, Solaria
Boat shape beside my head
The Thinking Motors churn the Seas
I have a third class ticket
You a Passenger boarding card
I am far from not knowing you
Easier things, there are
Secrets and Secrecy
Wisdom from Withholding