Monday, March 5, 2012

Oh, You Silly Angels

Ithaca 656

From the lagoon I can see
the millwheel of the sky and
the harnessed clouds breathing

All this violence this hydrogen dew and
it fouls the watercourse and bursts

Would you wash your hands and
lose this healing power?
The metal ships becalmed among icebergs
left short of wreaking ruin upon the flowers

your simplicity vanishes, a fading photo in
the parting of this water.

Ithaca 657

the madman and his salt revolver
stumbles in quest of what seemed like a good idea
at the time

Fanned by the flames
of October waters the minerals
and coals and fossils form
the anatomy of boredom
Your fresh eye and language
define a certain absence

can abundance ever be named?

Ithaca 658

The advantage of night
is the relief from the constancy of noise
that grief makes when it is fresh and cold

It is the absence of the question
(does Bertrand shave all and only those
citizens who do not shave themselves?)

the hand that lights the damnation candle
will send the world into the remote places

(does Bertrand shave himself?)

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