Vertigo Days

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Oxen of the Sun 420-421

eleven whispers- abominable, best
allah, a bag of faith
this world of bad trumpery
like the hawk of love
it glides the long day.
who wanders the regions of fire?
inside all this seeking is
a lost angle of time
a hollow seedy war
a sin, really, against the night
did time wash the blood of the lamb?
unwell truth you see the bad in us all
will you speak some shit and
turn down our loose change?
your soul will not come to
this long, black day of judgment.
we somehow missed the glory of
this early god
we somehow forgot the precious
excess of all these false alarms.

I Wish I Had A River,...

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Oxen of the Sun 419

Certain motions create confidence
hell is full of these holy someone's rattlers and
fainting flowers landing in dog poverty
inside the fake gates
the criminal game handing us
a glinting loss
our green lives left toxic
so cut our breath and hide our crowns
we are firm and maddened
we are happy in our gorgeous drunkenness
we are gone
we are terminated
we will tell you
we are going home

Hats of Smoke

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Oxen of the Sun 418

blind digging at the road to the heart
where else would I find a password?
a hair's difference between love and debt
here, at most, we deliver eyes.
shaking wires we spit anchors
most stunned in pairs exquisite we
boil our wants down to shining twigs
and use them to set fire to our stain
if we only had wings
war would be only a name
these little children
would be shamed into waiting.

Wardream

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Oxen of the Sun 417

with a drunken gun
this madness stands gone along the
beautiful night
like art it fires tramps and bishops
savvy cabbies and Irish bibles
shades, tramplers of meaning
mounted one on the other
sweetsweet bonnyclabber, fiddler
enemy of morning
business of yours
kicking ministers and
watching the clock
bleeding on counters
and passing away on prairies
reviving to the thunder of numbers
nearing the last world
sleeping in our boots
advancing on obligation, awful time
we spend our days designing all this madness.

How Ghosts Fill the Space of Memory

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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
human-it
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

In This Land, Even the Rocks Can Speak

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Oxen of the Sun 415

Don't dare remember that this is a game
the remote look of giving
smiling, perhaps these storms are
only angels
ardent
dangerous
fond of hands
transfiguring shadows over the world
while we slumber wide-eyed
under the torrent of light below
and you are over there,
standing with an urn of ashes
too conscious of some last full grey birth
where were assembled the
shepherds, the girls
who were arrested then bled until
they resembled the comedy of skin
collided punctual with the end
and were finally mistaken for the vast sky.

He Has Vastness On His Side

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Oxen of the Sun 414

hopeful sin faithful him he waits
suffering
his own embittered calm
let the light grow dim
well done, now, your ashes
shine in my heart, heart of silver-
rememberancer of our own good time
we abide in all sorts of smooth persuasion
breaking from cool, oh famous africa
upon these words deliver staggering pleasure
your face at midnight, tranquil amid this sorry rain
timbrel-like on the roof of your vision
your part so loyally played
a scene so disengaged from memory
a scene so disengaged immediate space
the evening well-remembered
knows the heroes of the morning world.