high and higher like a messenger
hanging herself with her own hand
an hour or two of simplicity
where I was open and sufficient
do not tell tales
concerning pain
That time I was marooned
by a toothache – weeping eyes
screwed shut, mouth agape –
I might’ve been taken for someone
in the throes of ecstasy, lying
on the couch with all
the windows open. The weather
was June, and wonderful.
All afternoon I clung to the thread
of the brown thrasher’s song.
Even in extremis it’s simple
to tell a thrasher from his cousin
the catbird: he repeats
almost every improvised line.
Paired phrases sometimes reach
into the low thousands
toothache
on a clear afternoon
seeing how much
is out of my power
my patient body being
a great ape
night calls me to myself
an earful of old pain
two loves have I
and only one pocket
arson is a pretty house
with ingenious chemistry
angry as a noon toothache
raw and alone
the sea books a ticket
to my sleep
morning frost
pain in my bladder and the drawn
face of my wife
Into an ear of owl
night fell,
ecclesiastical,
with great pain and love
for his supper.
Dying
and desire
come to me
in other things.
I am falling into
a white sea, I am
fierce as ivy and very
big with child.
I expect to live
but continue
in pain.
So.
Mourning filled my eyes
with leased doors.
I saw how all I own
I am not to keep.
Three years ago I was stone,
free from pain, content—
no joy or urge.
I had a great deal of light,
one room,
and I sat.
Ill
in pain: im-
patient.
All
night and
all this day in
great pain.
Off
me.
My mouth dare
not speak
my consent.
My pain, give me
an ointment, a plaster.
My mother.
The common axe
pierces, singing
between wedding and grave.