That the neighborhood might be covered
by one roof, occured
this morning, Snow on the ground
phonepoles, flagpoles,
windows, so many chimneys,
even up the hill
grass smoking out west
the tides, clouds from the past
vanishing rain
the base.
beaten out,
death when you don't want it what you like
is a plain object
the long-trunked clouds
a weltered event
shale fish broken off
vine spread
on that wall
invisible years birds
fly
the earth need
motion
a dial of wind forms
roars a little some cat
wavering
or fitful reflection
branches through rain
from a lightening sky
the clouds parade
no army
there is no time
no vision that presses
breaking ice
heat
of attempt
eat air
more of the sea
moon rocks the bodies of water.
slightly
we fish
the food
sometimes in the wind, in the light
hard as a pane of glass
Sound and beat swell
funnel of space
dragged in earth
planes eddy, the shaking
cold, fish jump the horizon
slats factory colors
we realize a finish
there is a tower a
vast dome
a dining car there
a sliding seats
sloped down
the girders truckload of stationwagons
a few benches at the sea
or hens crated
traffic island
the man in the street so
many disturbed
persons
in married life
that bird there, it's a gull?
the boys are
mimicking it
speech has chinks in its wall of sound.
through them I hear the Pleiades
blink off for the night.
it's called "after hours".
lean buildings stand,
fresh and legible paint slips hoist,
and men are poised in relief
against. Lucky Arch's,
a proposed monument to that sound.
Denial
to mitigate the
affirmations
A discarded
fence post
sun beaten
Rejected
of earth
piss ants
Nest in
its shattered
bowels
A spider
has stitched
an erratic
Web of denial
winter takes a break everybody has the london flu
takes it easy so why not him our backyard is an
icebox turned on defrost. through all pores drips
melts runs how vulgar can you get. as snow dis-
appears old garbage reappears and i read
" a nest is a bird's house "
i've known this for a long time people have told
me for a long time it is such an old story in
fact i hesitate to repeat it. nests are places of
intimacy designated by an attraction. there does
not exist an intimacy that is repellent. its being
is well being. and memory is a wardrobe with the
presence of lavender the history of the seasons
enters. what dreams are reserved for us if we re-
call the land of tranquility. memories come crowd-
walk on water skate on ice. what color ice? my skates are alfred johnson skates. PAT. AUG. 27. 1918 NO 1277137 CHICAGO USA NOT CONNECTED WITH NESTOR JOHNSON MFG CO. does ice mirror? it is day ice is silver metallic blue color of mirror of skates. lake's face we glide over used to mirror sky. did the lake look forward to freezing point? to when the liquid surface crusts? innocent enough it starts. water cooled turns heavy sinks warmer water surfaces. continuous cooling. watch the sun skid on ice. i am joking he never does detests slippery surface. it starts with a shiver continuous cooling goose pimples. for a second a certain expectant dullness of the surface then a thin skin forms like on milk cooling continuously. ice is less dense so floats its power lies in expansion. do you think skating a substitute for flying? empires of ice expand below. domain of the beautiful but terrible ice queen. palace walls of drifted ice windows of bitter wind a hundred halls ablaze by northern lights. gemini fly a lot in dreams as long as they are light. air is their element. at night ice is black even from above i guess i should know. we love to skate at night on a surface well lit.
followed creek upstream
till lost in stones
wait in a dark
cloak
for ride
east.
road goes up in brown hills
ten thousand men
walk in the gardens of the prophet
no cars
white & black goats in shallow wash
mountains move far away
I don't want to repeat
the same mistakes over again,
or the mistakes somebody else made just so
I can have the experience of them. See, fucked up again. Live and learn. And off the excessive fondness for one's own self knowledge, untested, but reigning supreme. That leads me more astray, every day. What we commonly know in the air, in our dreams, what chooses continually & continually to grow, the obvious under our noses, is this life. Yearning in blindness. The weed has a name, is quite proud of itself, builds a community with other weeds, birds hop through. The imported domestic is a labor of love, but a labor, such a labor. At home here, no single thought is my thought. It whispers
The fire doors
open out going down
hinged at the left
to the outside frame.
In the intricacy of the stacks,
tier on tier,
turning always right
it was possible
for a man
to remain unnoticed.
incurved
the frame's vault
the door's metal
the hand opens
in the gesture
of closing