Though no purification’s new enough
To nullify the need for such labor–
Prior soon to repeat, platonic clone,
He should have practiced that horizon
Vocation, camouflage, opening his
Arms wide the better to hide. But of course
If the flesh is fire, bones are the kindling:
Still there but aching to be unbelied
By the lover, unbellied as breaths held
Until all the minutes fall to the wrong
End of the hour and find his final
Efforts,ve faded, dated as (or like) a sundial.
but if it wore time, would it disappearisn’t visibility an effectof transvestism, that shield pastime whosecrosscasual aim unmasks the eye: must youassume the costume of the other tobe here, to present the sense with an ess. . .Narcissus saw his guise decked out all ruse,but if there were none, what would our true clothesconsist of,…
Historians agree: this is the pebble which beaned Goliath.Every billboard is theoretically as beautiful as what lies unseen behind it.Mouth: the word’s exit-wound.It is impossible to run away face-to-face.Shadow has closed the door out of you to you, but not to us.The sign on the wall advises: Hide your gloves beneath your wings.Even sculptors occasionally…
It will look as though I am flying into myself.
As much as a person could die in one instantA lifetime–
Empties its mote of closeup traceDown screens that blink blank blipSomewhere between countdownAnd coma time is a lineWhere waking centuries oftenDrained against that measure we findOur blood redshifts (direction: west)Until film can clone one sunWith stars both whole and goneAttending every sequelWe pray for an intent equalTo our interest
of sea is a taste wept too daily,too depleted by freedom’s rupture;the eyes have other secrets to seeand deeper use for the detrituswithin us: the bright effluviumof ego dries up, mired as it isin wealth, that remedial medium.Blame it on fate, on beach memories–pebble put in the pocket or shellfragments; any memento carriesus as much…
