Wednesday, January 19, 2011

240. Subject Manner

(else this isle

of impulsive noise
partly lawned)

Breath, look—
loop it could be
detailed in connections

all this stuff in
which runkles

hearing a silver car
sun-dappled and ivy-clad

Ascot, the truck
you can trust.

A big building
so narrow a compass

cotton fibre
deep-coated in clear
memory of hills
have just outlined
much of this

the world appeared

based on the attenuation
of the day, I’ll take this
slope of reference
to strim verges

everyday metonymic expressions
of subduction
forgotten, fluent and persuasive

anorexic fix
becomes visible in the trees
(sweet and persuasive)

how they tremble and shine
some force of allusion

blue among blue
aqua, eucalyptus
vapour, a figure of
two lines of slow

exact details of
“s” rubbed pretty
ordnance according to a pattern
without a centre

Obscenity poses like a father
from being to begin

broken cliff edge of red
of deluxe sentiment

embrace of a strange woman
bloodstained hankies
faintest touch of lips on the
peaches and penumbras!

blonde astonishment
up the seams

Ears are full of snow
baffling twilight instruments

the compass turned again
flattens our hopes
or mouth, wherever blood
in ordnance, inks, and symbols
wears a clock

out of emphysema
up into the cruellest

You in Dementia
lit by lightning night,
an ermine sleeve,

and writes
a public language
known of apperception
whilst making a continuous strand

In misrecognition
I’ll take a drink
of gothic jumps
a surplus of frames

I want

some threadbare dignity
in its fusion
there is no evidence

underneath chairs
slow rain

sounds we emit

a bunch of fresh coriander
signs printed on the bottle

probes into the vent
into the bladder
with anaesthetic
for the left

No specific memory
eats any kind of little dream

unified flatness
colourful life

explosive wind
and salt water

in scarlet
or stainless

through brine
the remaining
mist condenses on the trees

attaching to ears
other signs of confusion

inscribing or grafting

finally integrated

silky excremental colours
flecks of blood on vitreous china

the cheek bone
eyes enlarged
the slim magic

Any father who has a daughter
saw people feeding each other
down through trees

a question of accumulation
and dusk was just falling

the impression of brightness
comes touched with snow

Glue and apple fibre
where oxlips peep

in the reconstructed
sugar and vanilla

hushed is that sufic
to earth o’ergiven:

in indigo
lyric outbursts
torn off endings

Paste or past
It is our poetry such as it is—

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