Wednesday, December 28, 2011

As If It Were A Swarm of Bees

Eumaeus 646

As if there was ever a dog

chained to a horse

as if there were bones

inquiring noises made famous

by particular Queens

who bound themselves in illusions

as if there were sorrow

in flying over the blue horizon

as if in this toy ship

adrift in the desert

reflected in the wisdom of the sky

as if there were evidence of dancing

tonight in holy peril

as if this horror were an instrument

of recall a dark artist

training creation for its

debut as if it were an alligator

as if it were an emergency

as if it were a swarm of bees

as if

Eumaeus 647

Mother's music sung in future tense

sang sung a murder come understood

but not distinct

in clothy purpose penny fashioned from old songs

highly passion wordy even more the sea sea

nodding read the near sky

the empty sky

the blessed, attended sky

where beautiful sonics command their notes

to be infallible

sky-sirens and

sea-sirens bargain

for translations that arrive from the deep blue beyond

in right minded ships

bearing for the edge of the world

Die Welt Ist Schon

Eumaeus 648

You have decided the rut of dignity

and taken a place in the yoke of the uncommon

your plan was for reason

but the cards all came up empty

how handy for it to be decided for you

you go to the show

upstairs in a house that

has no second floor

it was a matter of air, right?

it was a career containing little

foreseen in different literature

practiced procrastination

and forthcoming of foot and nose

opening life

for accidents of spacetime

it was speaking for the seasons

it was helped by an embrace

Eumaeus 649

So this is how the swineherd ends

the character dwindles sleeping

into his last oh wow oh wow oh wow

nasty pretexts proud

mired under the scythe the

feather the humble light no longer noticed.

We are practitioners of memory

and our practice is imperfect

intended as private joke the word

spin from heads of streetly gardeners,

who say goodnight to all the

ships and bridges

Goodnight, Eumaeus.

For Brad Bird

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

That Is No Country For Old Men*

Eumaeus 643

I pawned my eyes

to come to this favored opening

a wall so ill, so high with neither corner nor

darkness, where echo drowns in the dark sand

I lugged luck from harm across these bright waters

and made myself now elderly in this impatience

secondhand voices answer

from within a watering brain

it was a book of holes which described me

the former moments pass away

avoiding found wakefulness

and picked from ire

to keep all this intensity

from wanting your words.

Eumaeus 644

according to the floor, the

stones never fail

they outstay honesty and being.

their blood is on the night air -they get their

companions from certainty

and walk sinewless among

our mistakes

we will grasp the differences in failure

and look for the price of welcome

we will put down our arms and

disown winter

because the only thing left

is the end of all flesh

and the debt due.

Eumaeus 645

Madam Time withholding

character in a hat

death in mind and voices through doors

amateur music making all this desire

seem sacred

an opinion of worship

surely god is knowledge

ranting, dreaming, virtuous.

All these moody peasants

studying gems

for clues to perfection

air made of stone

its purpose eviction

these tenants of privilege.

*W.B. Yeats- "Sailing To Byzantium."