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echo of the clocktower footstep in the alleyway sweep of the wind sifting the leaves
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jeweller of the spiderweb connoisseur of autumn's opulence blade of lightning harvesting the sky
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keeper of the small gate choreographer of entrances and exits midnight whisper traveling the wires
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we shared chocolate and one man from maine told a joke suns were everywhere at our feet
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his paycheck at the harley house roared off with nothing but a backpack waving his headband leaning into a downhill curve and gone
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i never saw you that way marilyn though perhaps incomplete
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the angel sees a pinewood box in place of the man and the street he walks is a boat the hull like a coal crater
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where was i expecting death to take me if everywhere it is is on earth
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it's burning hot the heat coming from bugs and worms raping and devouring one another
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he starts the hard work of the imagination learning to minister to the new dream
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against the blue good luck to it my sister and i below heads tilted back as we stand in the grass good luck to all of us still here still in love with it
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i'd do this every few minutes i'd think to myself what made me such a failure
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here comes lucretius then ovid then horace in lines saying relentlessly doily doily till stars take over and do the same
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why have you pushed him from his world into mine stopped him there and turned his ear toward my warning shout
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bless the elsewhere where others are not here or you
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as laughing now brushing confetti away you hand the bride flowers narcissi their green throats pushing up from wet stones in a jar
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are there to be sat through waited out on a damp bench as a man sweeps up around you and the sun comes out in real time stealing over the ground
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and leapt away a white tooth in the closing mouth of the woods
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i am coming i am about to come your shuddering lover your raz el hanout
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of zaatar bread and diet cokes we found some shade under a portico as the visionary pillars disappeared into blue sky
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what questions were we asking staring at the misinformation on the wall and the beautiful armenian head of anahit
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why was i back in der zor at the chapel digging armenian bones out of the baked ground scratching the marrow and dried mildew
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that might mean those cloudy bastards have noticed me
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in offering as much for show as for a fear so deep i found i couldn't name it
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in a forest on a train in new york and paris with unparalleled handiwork sinning as i go merry as an office boy spooning onion soup
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the body held so long by stewards in her name
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when the great bass stomped its galloping boom out to the crowd my heart swelled with valor and pride i remembered when we saluted when we took off our hat
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a mongoose charges dry grass and fades through a fence faster than an afterthought dust rises easily
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desire them but cannot want such order we stand mouths open and cannot help stammering our secrets nailed to water
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along which randomly clucks the whole game
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sound inside their years surely i have known the whole of grief and grace in gears
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thing took her place in front of us arranged in cuneiform polished brandishing a window to climb out
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a thresh of sticks and vine hand-carried high ay am my own weight carried by kind horse kind mother gone
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one cartwheel over the quicksand curve of tuesday to tuesday and you're gone summering a ship on the farthest wave
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sometimes imagining that greedy zero you must have been that promising empty sack of possibilities never-to-come tomorrow
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but look at you now body soft old shoe that love wears when it's stirring look down look how earth wants what you weigh needs what you know
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to be exact it happened the very first time that i saw rome darkness falling as i left causing me to see what simply couldn't last
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i'm a pipe cleaner a drop of moisture on the big nose a pushing landscape indecipherable
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as she touches a fingertip to a word to mark her place and turns her head toward the kettle that has begun to whistle
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my dog has died i buried him in the garden next to a rusted old machine
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to my breathing whispered praise my slightest suggestion
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to me to each other by my will by love to that other realm by song and tooth and blood
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who knows what will become of them before they find their peace
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from a sun shower who's arrived dripping wet an idea fresh from the brush of his maker
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i found him going through the public trash figuring how to fill a bottle some angry drunk had smashed
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to hear i read until you finally slept and all your jagged syntaxes softened into rest
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whose poems drifted like a dinghy in small inlets gravesend rockaway out too far for safety in sight of land
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collect red bug bites show you a peacock before his tail gets ratty
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the lapping of lake water and a call of one bird then another cries of joy or warning it passes the time to wonder which
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back out mary i am still for you i am still a numbness for you
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i'd sit on the bench (i didn't look out of the eyeholes so i wouldn't see the carnage
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vii a transmission through space a dismemberment of the spirit
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viii years later i came back wanting to be known
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for five more years then the wailing then the dust
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the silver drops the spider's hour the mirror
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when the bees fly out tomorrow to look for sweetness and find their way because nothing else has changed
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see snow falls for the first time every year and every year my students rush to the window as if snow were more interesting than math which of course it is
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there falls each ancient barrier that the art of race or creed or rank devised to rear grim bulwarked hatred between heart and heart
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though wild beneath the daemonic pressure of his inquiry (with so much of the trowel surely a touch more finishing might be borne
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and later you stood mighty in the door on james street loud callin
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we struggle vainly still we fain would catch such rifts amid life's shadows for they bring glimpses ineffable of things divine
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you you a poet
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but still she looked good to me she still looked good and all thanks to an ugly horse who wrote this poem
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my typewriter is tombstone still
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and i am reduced to bird watching
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he walks away thinking about it
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now take a close look do you find it has another row behind
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some would be devoted to acting against consciousness like the flight of a moth which had it known would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame
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i would deal separately with satisfaction and pride the time when i was among their adherents who strut victoriously unsuspecting
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the history of my stupidity will not be written for one thing it's late and the truth is laborious
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a right idea of the sight to frame t'have guessed from what new element she came t'have hit the wav'ring form or giv'n this thing a name
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pencil or warps of a flat eye the wide world circling
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by whose bald sign i know that stooping age away shall pull which youthful years did sow
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for beauty with her band these crooked cares hath wrought from whence i first was brought
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ah ah groans the crew with the weight the winds cutting skin we claim our seats pelicans perch in the draft for fish
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ah ah calls the sun from a fishing boat with a pale yellow sail we fly by on our return over the net of eternity thrown out for stars
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in the chill rains of the early winter i hear something a puling anger a cold wind stiffened by flying bone out of the north
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thestylis what you cannot constant hope must be taken as you may
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ametas then let's both lay by our rope and go kiss within the hay
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new yeare forth looking out of janus gate doth seeme to promise hope of new delight and bidding th'old adieu his pass
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what then can move her if not merth nor mone she is no woman but a sencelesse stone
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haunting the sacred well the hidden shrine it is the ravage of the heron wood it is the rood blazing upon the green
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and where my organ of veneration should be wormwood and gall grudge sliver
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the nurse said of the bedsore everything exists at the courtesy of everything else
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deer do not tremble i know this my bone and sinew twisted into fallow slenderness and the tibia twig thin
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four rods finished with a cloven hoof planted on rotting leaf mould gloomy weight of the gold altar
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despite the blood threat of power my doe body would not spring away no flick of spotted fur into shadow
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and fills the lost ring's hollow with life's most lasting part cries for new love
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low in the east now lighting gorgeously he saw the last sea-serpent iris-mailed to pluck the sun down into the dead sea
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stasis in darkness then the substanceless blue pour of tor and distances
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hauls me through air thighs hair flakes from my heels
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white godiva i unpeel dead hands dead stringencies
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nearness without contact causes numbness analgesia
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pins and needles as the snugness of the surgeon's glove causes hand fatigue
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hans memling is watching from my matchbox where the serpent lives this is his nest
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woman was made to serve and obey man man must obey god wife: man can command
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a few capricious tourists off the cozy track propose unbeaten toasts he'll soon be going back
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an amble to the john the mirror's random crack the urinal's askew he'll soon be going back
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dusty carnations carnival bric-a-brac long-faded revaltions he'll soon be going back
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into so few words respectfully asks glatstein wang wei at first doesn't understand the problem but then he shrugs his shoulders mumbles zen
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