Wednesday, April 29, 2009



Customs are perfumes
The fruit of a million swift sermons
Torn together flowing out in simple things
The money wife stepping into the air,
The skin changes a million times but lets out the
Flower of its soft eye- it won’t be held responsible
For the flowing fluttering silence,
The long rest between notes or
The sinking beneath dank waves.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

All My Greatest Works Are Misunderstandings

Narcotic Martha your cigar is running erect
Open and opulent
Too soon perfume dies away
Too late poison drowns naughty boys oh
How I long to meet you!
Queer nightstalk bawled out long forgetmenots
(It took all I had to remember your murmuring your
Sad heart)
The common pin
The probable rose
The usual love punishing eversameness
Words in drawers the pain in pockets
Bad as not
Never having any but then,
All my greatest works are really misunderstandings

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Flattened Petals


Waking to ruins
Tell me the meaning of warmth
Shoot the angry cats that once went wise
Before some shysphinx clawed out what marbles
As passed for eyes.
(All now blind.)
This land from which we will soon leave will
Be passed, forgotten, and what a beautiful name
That now feels itself so forlorn?
A letter of wishes still warm
From forgetting,
Will you write me a long letter,… and tell me more?

Monday, April 20, 2009

the Contortionist's Children


A voice full of eyes
Impersonator of suicides! Wandering and
Warning of teeth and edges,
Could it get much worse?
I have few fancy tidings left
Recognizing Abraham and the false sacrifices:
How easily we have been mesmerized by the
Promise of eternity, just around the corner.
Afternoon and all the Hamlets are talking,
Fingers and faces,
Explaining the hazards of thinking.

God, it’s hot out here.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

It's Just That Way


The glad in looking may turn to drowning
Mightn’t myself, moved by the good news
Get on to Belfast?
Dark shares this message happily then
but it shoves the blackened book where
It won’t be easily found.
Then knocking around and fitting a quick touch,
And we regain our good name
And swagger away with our eyes turned back
And our breath taken down.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

A Girl in Eustace Street


Wrong talking strings call what we were
A little into question
Displays happen in the unrolled fist in the sun
Always the wrong happenings take too long to finally unfold:
The glare of sight,
The much later moisture of paradise, now
The eye finally rejects the looking.
The long dead talking head weeping at the
Sound of braided skin beating the empty drum.
Just down there
The music asks
what is home?

Monday, April 13, 2009

the Center of Vision


Matters of the hand
A matched patch
Through which a particular woman eyes
The troubled bloom.
Tell me, fireman or mason,
Is time standing still
And waiting for a day like this?
From overseas empire we
Possess nowhere and
Pay heed:
a narrow forefinger dressed carelessly
ripping open a photo of a
Funeral bed.

Poor Dignam.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Now These Towers Now these Lessons


Freeman, you fall
To earth, light to no one,
Teaching anyhow the forces of dancing,
The body of salt, the water answers every second
Of its downward velocity.
Now castoff then pointed picture floating,
Tapped out each step, each volume,
Too late to catch itself in careless air,
Passing by the thankless soldiers,
In regimental plume as they march through
Easy night street.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

F equals M Times DV over DT


Grow legends inside your hat then
Beg to bury a sailor in the sea
Of the sun. Wonder is a name
Who’s time is come while fingers float
And turn the day Aleph Bet GImmel Hey!
In surely dark the bowls of smoke
Crush sober skins while
Quarrelsome sleep loll s
Like hot floating name.

Monday, April 6, 2009

The More I know, The Less I Can Say


Night an evening hour
Money, an idea, an envied hand now
Swelled with dislike of
The smell of prizes
Braced against the teeth of life.
Dancing in the church
The mirror of air and the sound of bells:
A perfect third the band as a sketch
Rubbed to pay some last shadow
Its payment for the gift of breath.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Wind and Umbrella


Growing just is a restraining collar
The columns of wonder have fed this resistance
Hope is a rising season a smell of tabloids and
Bowels and countinghouse reason.
The floor full of moon patiently breathing
The first small reading of turning and cleaning
Yesterday’s letters all quite gone insane
Something anything laughing in constipation
Begins time for picking the bees
From the garden.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Dirty Old River

Letting the wants to go to wait
Moving uselessly flowing bounds
The day is coming.
Far passed kissing remover of lips
Let the air become thunder
Around the garden.
The scabby soil a gentle loosening
The trip around a fine read landing
The town the summer a coming
The stalked, stained table a
Heavy happening.