September

By - Mar 1, 2017

i.

 

The rain

distributes within the world

 

This implies a grammar  The map

maker implying

 

possible trees  He says

I follow the world  The old

 

figure of logic places

a public and what is possible

 

to promise another  Imagine

all the uses of a line

 

between here and yonder

Now outline

 

the figure of a bruise

 

 

ii.

 

A thing becomes

itself

 

Rarely  A

girl fifteenish and

 

final the woman behind

deliberate eyes

 

breath

of her exemplary eyes

 

And there

is here design  How who gets

 

and in whose line  A stall

and its keepers

 

Our hurt built

no scarcity of it  Enough

 

to say there were eyes

then  Facilities

 

we were wading to

 

 

iii.

 

I was

okay  In the stall of

 

world  Not history

 

but I

when I say I

 

mean this bit

of world

 

fomented

So away from me

 

We don’t carry history

we foam

 

it  We are it

History I mean

 

is an antagony

of two hands in the sink

 

something foaming

And a woman saying

 

this is not your

room  And alone

 

you wanting to be

a thing just

 

so

 

 

iv.

 

I don’t care what

you believe

 

about ash

how it settles

 

to some

thing less than form  Tonight

 

there is only

wood  Its structure

 

black night

ached with blue

 

What we have

to do

 

 

v.

 

A creature of such purchase

when dead  Whose purchase

 

to mourn the dead  Remember

2014  September

 

or November  Any month

the same really  Like anyone

 

working at the street  A bar

Free drinks

 

from the creeps at the bar

But together

 

A laugh lodged in the air

Taste of blood copper rain

 

This existence  Sister

a kind of theft  Wanting

 

nothing going anywhere  When

you left the rains

 

again picking

up  I haven’t been the same

 

 

vi.

 

With grace I am

with you

 

in your labor

until the last  And I am joyful

 

today for its structure

Machinery clipping the master’s

 

hand  How impossible it is

the trees have changed