September
By Jos Charles - 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