Tuesday, January 11, 2011

232. A Moth of Some Ways

There is
in an isthmus
an opening
we could
walk through
and there
we could
think of
five reasons
for walking
through it

I. purlance

tongue to an ear
to taste to test

tatter the words out
in slips and shards

little red bits of tongue

a pitcher of brown
a picture of us

eyesome pleasures
and measure’s mood

a quandary
of stone

it is summer
so snow is sand

II. eyèstly

a better margin
for looking at the night

what a walk to a door
to a bar might bring

heare there bee

to shimmer

replaced by a pencil
so as not to last

and in packs

we were what
we had seen

III. fidgering

the only music
a tapping

watch the grip

accepted in a glass
for the quaff of

to lift is
to hand

fingers softly
against the shoulder

not a push
but an urge
nails tap
into it

IV. noisail

even night’s shapes
lifted a scent up to


smelling old
in empty glasses

the pardon
of spilling

a scattering of
breath and words

everything said

everything forgotten
committed to memory

V. herdle

words in a manner
of plaything


“I said,
‘You heard?’”

“‘You herd,’
you said.”

Fat Elvis

moths falling in
flakes through light

tongue to an ear
to hear to here


Through it
for walking
five reasons
think of how
we could
and there we
walk through
as we could
an opening
in an isthmus
that is there?

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