soon
when the proud son
returns to earth
wanting to know
child of its flesh
happy genius of the
household
his book being gift of
all this together
supposing it was actual
like pomegranates
splitting
on the banks of a stream
where mermaids sing
with yellow drawn shades
or moon's sickle
this earthly hell makes
all feel better
burning & gunning in
america
& dusk a gash of
neon
a flowery tale of
something
upright & earnest
like the folds of a
bright girdle
astride the dreary
intercourse
of daily life
spring like a perhaps
wheelbarrows similarly
plastered
a valorous legend
for the church of
hygiene
the blank bulk of us
& a language to
dream in
snake with no hiss
no olives no fasting
day after day
the bone china of
man's calamity
yet I wouldn't
doubt that under its
wrist is still
a pulse stabbed &
shot
untapped &
untappable
where the families all
disperse
to their kitchen wars
& the leaves bid
spring adieu
& the studio guests
play their clapboard
hopscotch
with a brass coin
& a burlap veil
dying before we had time
even
to be stripped of
foliage
small iridescent flies
furies of complicated
precession
gutter glare
earth in adolescence
trying to rebuild
my exhortations
embers need poking
heart & head unheard
& grey as
a magic button
in the bronx
only one all-loving
motion flares
at the center
of a great yellow flower
------------------------------------------------------------
pastoral
now I hand
what tears I have
to you for language
which
on this scene impress
a blue solitude
of stars
the real world
or what the public
understands
arranged by men with
pears and crosses
can't forget the cool
evening
air kisses rush of blood
& you who
have killed to own your
joy what pleases you
more
than your back against
the
jungle where nothing
grows
& nothing keeps
ah let us be true
to an orange frontier
beyond the frieze
on my knees with both
feet
you'll find you've come
to yourself through
centuries
arraignment of the lover
of meadows & woods
on this exact spot
where the little stream
flows with bodies of
horses & men
war and then war
voice of
its own birth
this river
this concrete river
I am beast of beasts
as a blue vase
sheds rainbows on grass
the shafts of
yesterday's pain
that human vices wake in
us
delicate & strangely
proud
a motion & a spirit
that impels
we are making a future
today
with rapid unanimous
hands
echo of steel sounds
grating sky
the eyes of my bones
sing to the hand the
mantra
through a mist of
completeness
in autumn we bought
for the natives peace
in a begger's
half-etched squat
happiness on a wave
coffee black coffee
since I left you
---------------------------------------------------------------------
fair play
if in your eye your
smile
or your feet open doors
& blue sky
in mind of man
then the wall
with its dizzy raptures
fierce as a dog
lapping for action
leaves me to
feast on myrtles &
noise of my own voice
my own
publishing stream
seems a snapshot
of torment
of fire & weight
affording nothing
somber pleasure
asleep or it malingers
to taste the slabs
of salt the
ingots of copper
intimacy
tell me you are me
& I believe you
veteran of
wine cracking the dirt
tried & true trite
twisting of
raw silk into the
revenant
lift her spirit
attune her voice
show no mistake in
reasoning
leveller of periplum
the hermit sits alone
saying tombstones &
music
I believe you have found
a spell to draw me out
I thought every secret
was
you when you don't exist
how do you speak how
know
the image of what
I'd wanted
steeped brewed &
spent like a
dry leaf trembling on a
wall
participants came in a
cluster of dialects
high tones low & mid
whose prospects &
pride
woods & copses get
lost in
layers of murmur &
slashed worlds
certain half-deserted
streets
to the planet floor
the tiny fuselage of a
vine
wind being present
always getting into bed
with
had many a good meal
from
at twenty I tried
but over me a face
I'm surprised to find
soft sentiment &
salutes
purge the shame of being
born
more love from him at
19 than ever from
the unseen wing
impossibly intricate
the magnetic curses
why not
persona al mundo
rig a little hammock
then retrace your steps
st patrick st mark
furnished with
a stained mattress
even the bawds of
euphony
burp the millenial
sorrows
into a mantle of summer
no sound like the
dolphin-torn
grief &
faith knowing
something gone
through the open gate
streets full of people
& she sat
muttering holy whys
I used to go & visit
him
his lone darkness
opposing
& corrupting
like a proper gypsy
like a master craftsman
& there were gates
to see us through
to sleep buddhalike
in his hallway
the subterranean path
the ants & pebbles
the vein of will
what guards what
purity of melting
my mouth sewn shut
with an alphabet of
tokens
unoriginal angels
vs. the sole known
photograph of him up the
hill
very full very
successful
& under his ribs
the heart of his people
surrounded by beautiful
curious
breathing laughing flesh
no addled keeper of
yesterday's
magic can startle this
pain
& make it move &
live
your impudence protects
you from
an empty heart
shadow of a blackbird
every time I'd turn my
head
filled with literary
peers & dukes &
all the sweeping train
rung after rung
amid the mirrored shapes
of country people
lights never go out
the woods on our side
eyes that I love
night resonance recedes
night walker's song
half full of cold
every day it dies