Monday, October 25, 2010

How Ghosts Fill the Space of Memory

Oxen of the Sun 416

The possibility of remarkablest innocence
is language without air
rain makes truce but pandemonium follows
what is enlarged by labor is made sorely
tells of a cracked world- the years of floating
the slaughter of rocks
making music of envy
heaven, heaven, you forgive the gall and starshine and
I will tell you a story of veins and bleeding
of waiting in empty rooms for the completion of
fragile deeds but
this all ends in watching
astounding fruit falling,
wonderful, truer than kindness
happier than an ascending bird
breathe into me a celestial art
tell me a story of America,
Tell me a story of home

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