under their lids, growing black.
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His task to watch an hourglass wash itself,
Though no purification’s new enoughTo nullify the need for such labor–Prior soon to repeat, platonic clone,He should have practiced that horizonVocation, camouflage, opening hisArms wide the better to hide. But of courseIf the flesh is fire, bones are the kindling:Still there but aching to be unbeliedBy the lover, unbellied as breaths heldUntil all the minutes…
“…here thy generations endeth in accord.”
And father and therefore must have beenAdopted, because on my TV screenThe role-children rarely share a featureWith either parent. The fact they’re actorsAnd I’m not is what makes me misbegot—A matched world of monitors all 2-shotThe mirror daily where I pray these starsCome: cancel everyone of us whose namesAnd clans have sundered human unityDescend always…
I’m tired of murdering children.
now I feel Vietnam the placewhere rigor mortis is beginning to set-in upon me.I force silence down the throats of mutes,down the throats of mating-cries of animals who know they are extinct.The chameleon’s death-soliloquy is your voice’s pulse;your scorched forehead a constellation’s suicide-note.A phonograph needle plunges through long black hair,and stone drips slowly into our…
From the trees the leaves came down
and that act enabled themsomehow then to reach the groundwhere they scuttered round our feeturging the latter to unitewith a baton as if that acttogether with the hands can claspa dowsing-stick cut from the samebranch from which we launchedconverging on gravity’s purge-pointat which point we merged to removeall consonants from our star-maps.The infinite consists of…
One day we notice that the sun
a crash program begins: we fill rocketswith wheat, smoke-rings, razorblades, then,after long aiming–they’re off. Hulls specially alloyedso as not to melt before the stuffgets delivered we pour cattle rivers windmills,aborigines etcet into the sun whichhowever, grows stubbornlysmaller, paler. Finallyof course we run out of things to feed the thing,start shipping ourselves. By nowall the planets-moons-asteroids…
I’m charmed yet chagrined by this misunderstanding–
Boarded up, billboarded over, with ads for wind-insurance.Similarly, swimmingly, I miss the point. You too?And my misunderstanding doesn’t stop there, it grows–soonI can’t see why that sudden influx of fugitives,All the world’s escapees, rubbing themselves lasciviously against theBerlin Wall.They stick like placards to it. Like napalm. Like ads for–And me, I haven’t even bought my…