I SUPPOSE WE’LL WORK SOMETHING OUT

I SUPPOSE WE’LL WORK SOMETHING OUT

Nature charms you
outside the temple were things
will be understood though wrongly directed.

Unhappy idealists discover
doubts about principles or
otherwise confuse themselves.

Mansions bare the parched streets
where visitors gather by
statues with ironclad
stepping stone traps.

Accented people in the thin city
with frustrated friends
find destiny tumbles
in terror.

Deep in love like resentment
dragons and hyperbolic death
women remark that
men go out
on winter mornings habitually
balanced yet visible
in the way of the spent
room.

Gathering like the rest of society’s
house bought off with chairs
and wine congratulations
and with barbaric modesty
cultivated in vapours
my teachers come to me.

OUT IN THE WORLD

OUT IN THE WORLD

No one sees the darkest hiss of rain
or the authority of selfish tears
in the rattle of liquid night
like timber packets

Alone hot struggles of kitchen fire
that is her trade
driving her rampart
a woman unconsciously witnessed
with auburn hair low from time’s complexion
that nobody watched

The boatman passes like a gust
absently he comes scratching
cursing all the time
always afraid
strolling to him feels like plunging

Mud errands high hair unmoving
flat time downriver from uninterrupted
books I came not to take employment
for the room had not changed

Able herself supported
she walked with undercut pride
or perhaps with something better
Admit the truth
open the window
goodbye to houses and hello to farms
this is the way things are
out in the world

THE CROSSING OF THE BRIDGE

THE CROSSING OF THE BRIDGE

Dimness is here
followed by regiments
recoiling from containment
armour in Europe
remembering fire-eaters
absorbing what was put down
with great trouble along the bridge
while the rain saturates everything
the enslaved more furiously
throughout fictions and incredulity.

I remember my friends on dry roads
and wagons coated in perfume
memories on the ferryboat
love that is the distance
and the eternal clock
democracy and earthquakes
and women for all the troubadours
shuddering hearts and brains
that heat this world
and rulers furnished by other arts
when I was alone in Charleston.

PRECIOUS REQUESTS

PRECIOUS REQUESTS

It was a Sunday morning.
And all the bells were ringing.
I work my fingers to the bone for you.

I want to buy you something new.
You can’t have that many things,
even if I say so myself.

There’s plenty of time, and there’s work to do.
What you hear in the dark,
always repeat in the light.

There’s no gold or silver for your belt anymore.

I shall never forget these things.
Your mother knew about them.
Let your light shine on these special gifts here.
Don’t keep your treasures all that near.
You can’t take them with you too.
Your father knows you need them all.

Is there someone asleep in the doorway?
My legs won’t keep me up:
not in the house we stand in.

Your precious requests have not gone unnoticed.

WHERE YOUR LOVE BELONGED

WHERE YOUR LOVE BELONGED

I’m sitting here thinking
of a time I could have been
love-friend to her
about life

Pretty girl facing me
from the corner of a room
forward stretching over it
my bridges burnt

She said never leave me
as if I ever could
that was just something
in her mind

There were good days
and there were bad days
but the sun shone brightly
and the sky was blue

VENUS INDIGNANT

VENUS INDIGNANT

The ejaculatory
life is
the salvation
meteor of
futility or
fidelity willingly
false more
by your
leave during
times of
cultural tautologies
other destinations
ready love
in the
breach always
ambivalent mystery
reality waiting
to be
defiled in
the uninterrupted
present wings
will be
effortless for
aliens needy
of platonic
mist or
evolutionary doubts
in music
pirate maidens

GROVEL OF BABYLON

GROVEL OF BABYLON

She did appease my oblivion
and anxious hose,
flailing with
tongue seductions
in the wreck of time.

Discarding chronicles
like sail foam,
data jobs,
or managerial endings,
she was a true love of mine.

But now it’s come to sunshine
regimens, profile
clouds, orphan windows and
nihilistic soundtracks.

All like mighty
wandering shadows,
unexpectedly impaired,
somewhere in the night.

I still got a thing about you.

TREES OF SORROW

TREES OF SORROW

The trees of sorrow
that hang over these graves,
mark the spot where you are hidden.

You flew away too soon.

And all the while I could not
see the larger picture.

Your hair used to breathe
like the autumn smoke.
And you let me keep the cherished
dreams that fed me.

All for the sake
of trying to satisfy the eternal yearning.

All for the sake
of feeling some warmth in the night.
All for the sake
of flying too close to the candle.

All for the sake
of swimming in the contagious sea.

Such futile joys
we strove for,
and which brought us both to grief—

me, in my glass-walled palace,
you on your barrier reef.

When the sensuous hand
of destruction tempts and beguiles you,
who is safe to touch?

Who is safe from the cuts that
are too small to see?

Someone always comes forward to
be the victim when
the temptation is too much.

And is it just me, or is there someone,
somewhere, always missing you?

I WON’T CHANGE FAWNGIRL FOR ANYTHING

I WON’T CHANGE FAWNGIRL FOR ANYTHING

On to Lincoln, Nebraska—
plumb in the middle of The Great Plains.

I wish I were back there again.
Tempests in the dark taunt
our exhibited drunken selves,
placing fallen yellow graves at our feet,
and waves stretching back liberty’s possession,
hand-cuffed under female felt and passion,
drift upon island animals and hidden
rebellions emerging.

There are many ways to lie when good
deeds and bad deeds follow you,
and you have everything you wanted.

Will you eventually be with me in that log cabin
in San Juan Valley, Colorado?

I wonder about a good deal in dreams and
dramas, half sick, half wounded, much around the
world, on sea and land, down among the first
arrivals while the worst was yet to come.

Another paradise lost,
but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And I remember my old man, slaving away on
that lemon ranch in California, staring
across prairie land wandering
what the end would be.

Don’t worry Rachel,
I won’t change Fawngirl for anything.

THERE ARE THOSE WHO REBEL AGAINST THE LIGHT

THERE ARE THOSE WHO REBEL AGAINST THE LIGHT

I’m alone and it’s spring.
If only you’d let me lie on you.

You’ve no dispensations or compensations.
You must let yourself go, that’s the only rule.

Who’s that woman over there?
I haven’t seen her before.
She’s up from the coast with her aunt.
She’s here for her health.

I found her in the morning when she was at her best.
I found it hard to walk away.
The hardness stayed with me all day.

I’ve got people on the streets.
You’re not wanted anymore.

There are reasons for me to suspect I’m mortal.
Raise me from the stranger’s grave.

YOU KNOW ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

YOU KNOW ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

Her coat spreads
power around
elegance of
compromise.

Second ridge
ghosters
take the city
and are grateful.

The no seen cars
speed town
borders vanish
fast control.

The weather
was the
first accident.

THERE WAS A FEELING OF SYMPATHY BETWEEN US

THERE WAS A FEELING OF SYMPATHY BETWEEN US

Winter again
drunk
to shed

ramble makes
deeds
sail well wash

action dies matted
of a
fist lens paint
swear foam
bursts the
goat

midnight dog
backs
up shaking years

radiation source
fingers
defence city loners

death crosses
mark network
down

trench statues
commingling with the
dead

hotel gate presidents
reserve shells
and trench statues

THE SAMENESS OF DAYS

THE SAMENESS OF DAYS

You hold the peasants at bay.
You have your work cut out.

You should make enough, as
the winter is coming.

Your slivery tongue will get me down.
Same as it was yesterday.

I have diligently numbered the days
since I came west.

It was the only thing left to do,
while heading upriver.

Captain of my soul, now I know.
Good measuring has informed us.

The plains of the world were
where the gold of happiness was.

SOMETIMES THINGS ARE HARD TO PUT DOWN

SOMETIMES THINGS ARE HARD TO PUT DOWN

Be careful where you chew,
as they’re looking
for someone else
who never lets it sleep.

Turning gears and sticks,
she doesn’t know which
way to go.

Now I measure all my
leather, making sure it fits.
When I get the envelopes,
I’ll look out for the slits.

She is on the lawn,
looking up at the birds.

She can never be here,
if you are always there.

I measure her up with
my head,
and I give her rifle,
and I give her bait.

CUTTING UP THAT CROP

CUTTING UP THAT CROP

Nobody knows
what a nice
day it
is except me.

I came back
to see you
while
you were away.

You have
spoken well,
if that’s what you feel.

We’ll make no
more arrangements.
We carry on regardless,
anyway.

I didn’t learn
my lesson,
and you
didn’t learn the truth

ROMAN SKY

ROMAN SKY

Do you remember that walk?
That walk you called separation?
That walk you called independence?
That walk you called “being stronger”?

Did you really believe any of it?

Did you declare how you were
free and how
you had no machine to
control your day?

Did you try to prove
a point
while weeping into
your hands
in the desert?

And did you find someone to
make the sky like
Rome for you?

I NEED YOUR HYGIENE

I NEED YOUR HYGIENE

You believe what
you will. He
got no one
else to lie.
He had plans

I never knew,
while listening to
my sacrifice. The
dust has you
tight, and you

don’t question it
when it commands
you in the
night. I’m waiting
for some of

your time, and
losing what I
can’t find. You
took me over
your walls but

only had your
breathing to sell.
After Milton, he
became more treacherous,
and needed you

for reasons you
didn’t need him.
Now he’s got
a chicken farm
in Puerto Rico,

where he blows
a horn all
day. You have
your hygiene which
you carry well.

SOMETIMES IT CAN TAKE A YEAR TO BE TRUE

SOMETIMES IT CAN TAKE A YEAR TO BE TRUE

It was inconceivable
that the horizon
could be ablated
by the paving
stones of anxiety
foisted upon the
gravelled stairway and
ceramic triangles that
we passed against.

Charlotte was a woman
of strange complexion whose
ambiance was that of
a cat trapped in
a fire escape of
its own projected delusion.

I knew her
well that spring
and June and
on that Friday
morn in blessed
dawn she was
the best thing
that ever happened
to her and
I cannot recall
my problems at
that state other
than to say
we had a
great time there.

The autumn leaves fell
by the gate and
slipped through the mist.
Time has no meaning
to fruit. Nothing bothers
them so it seems.

I found a
woman too I
heard her say
stop dreaming you
lush we are
not in May
so have a
drink on me
if you believe
in nothing he
wrote can be
heard but fleeced.
If I could just
go back to that
autumn week and all
the tables and chairs
that shone so brightly
for her glorious madness
and upbeat tortured serenity.

PLASTER PIECE

PLASTER PIECE

The sky-blue plaster piece
you chose because I touched it,
you will always keep.
You like to spend the days with me.

The Sunday I first took you
on plastic with red button lens
you turned out well.
The air was cold, but it was shining.

And the round crowned church
held you in its circle
and calmed you at my side.

You take photos in the light.

SNOW RANGES AND FAIR WOODS

SNOW RANGES AND FAIR WOODS

Angers and failures:
my lads are not for reconciliation.

I alone drink accurately
on the uncertainty.

I drink for the occasion,
similarly impressed, to brakes, skies,
and ghosts.

Snow ranges and fair woods
have their stint.
Printed feasts of richness.
Thrushes that quote but do not sing.

Racing to the beginning where the
reed’s breath sums up heaven.

And yet the reed speaks of simplicity
while full motion reconciles earthly years.

Dread lurks in the forest.
Candle boys shine the rough men.
Safe are the spheres that are dried
like the shells.

The old ships cry fleetingly
under the moonshine.