Cognate multiplicitous – o narrative of everything
Which we can psychically see into – across beyond before
As I stand here on fragile breaths, the fleshy door
I can invent sight-story-saying, gentle mirth
Destroyed, but playing – just salvage something –
Anything. What do you want to know?
With the fur and arms that come springing,
Bearing the idol of this portion’s idea, gesticulating,
A convent for vagabond urges,
The mother of silence retrieves her ghosts;
Groves of the pied phantom ring the seasons’ bells
Affrighted by such unorthodox hells,
Such a tangled matrix we weave
When first we practice to believe;
Station where love itself deceives
Yields flowers we’d not oft receive.
We all suffer each other madly – Family,
Mother envies waifish daughter,
Daughter adores, then scorns the mother;
Father resents them both for smothering
His manly pleasures. Around this
grows a knotted web – spider’s moss,
grafted laconic limbs on august trees –
Her lover, her fortune, her grasp of things;
What we think is, and what really is –
Retreat to symbiance of fantasy-dibs,
Sink in delusion quagmire,
Hide in privations, differentiate desires…
We split our differences & infinitives
And leave with magic in the can
When once enjoined on such a unified
March became the direst of opposites
To lurch into the gold sea. When cat-leap
mousers would trample the sample-prize
For the getting of the monarch’s eyes.
To gain o many windows in porphyry of shadows.
Why did I awake thinking of Constantinople?
I channeled a Timbuktu shaman
In candle-and-bath chanting transcendence;
Semahib is no longer the unknown god,
But is now the god of all known things, too.
As well, sensations, feelings, places, insights.
Like Dick’s god of “the trash in the alley,” it is a
Palpable, direct god of causation, modality,
OUR primary action and effect.
The wonder gained – when thunder reigned:
A pinhole price guaranteed, though waived;
What is genius but an opened way, or
One who has opened a way forth from this
Sticky chaos? A real-mass relation – old disaster footage
(why in this elation disastrous thoughts
Raising their chicken heads?) O, foible!
Thump private hurricanes, hum-bull wave
Of fettered knot twined human time –
Was this the Gordian Knot at last severed?
The great secret opened, the genie and the djinn,
The spy of grieving fluff begin – even nostalgia
Becomes obsolete when hatred has destroyed
Our streets, such fleets, that withered in rust’s empire.
Ovarious versedit, versea
Ahoy the marble sea
My joys flung across cold worlds:
Cabbage would the ample bean.
What am I supposed to do with all these bourgeois scenes?
Progenitory wastage dropped me blind, see.
I weep for Birdie Africa!
O weep for Birdie Africa!
The massacrists removed his smile
Like Nazi dentists extracting a (good) tooth.
May the Osage fires forever burn beneath your beds!
Home what beds and water
Assay these rooms a gentle slaughter
Fill a dell, fee ya, brotherly love
By fell enmity cracked, random lives,
– Who won the game of hives?
Madame X installs a piano in your squirming
Conscience, forestall kicks and skull flounce,
Bulldoze them out.
Houses of the dead sit beneath winter’s sky,
Yesterday the lookers high, Spring looming
As youth espies or dies or flies
back to Parnassus or Boetia – heavy color flares –
The only subtraction is death, or abstraction,
Distraction. Girl in mauve Lafayette necropolis
Tosses care like corset to the ground.
Confession time: “I want you to be beautiful” –
Between the tombs they search the parochial
Sky, man’s prisons, God’s lie, but through
Morning’s glory are they revived from the
Tombs of ignorance. Never the same sky twice.
Twice the pearl to leaden dice. Twice and thrice
went straight to his head.
Sky smoke of what you kneel beneath,
the blue – “fortune over soul” died
Where the Hellenist walked the wasteland,
wastewater, wasteair, wastefire…
This mass wants a heart to listen
This heart’s mass thins and thickens
Where rake meets loam and April smiles;
We plunge forth with our desires
As simple as to till the mulch-soil
And secrete the earthen glands –
This mass wants our starry hearts to
Feel real – not weigh the burry chaff –
Let it go, it says, “This Way to the Sun!”
Up the road, raking the loam, brushing
Earth’s hair, unsullied the sown, and
climb the cherry again !
I put the weed back that cried its denizens’
Shady sum; and apple boughs got first water
The bright, dry day has snakes coiling in the hedges;
Someday’s amorous mass clings along
These songs and travails (not trivial)
Seeding hieroglyphs to challenge our wrongs.
My barrow is the year, dumped in hallowed
Grounds, fewer, though, than the grievous
Rounds this torn dream makes. Daimonic!
To venge a cur for mournful rakes,
so must it be. A mother recalled emptily,
All night the crested fledge o’erflew peace.
Please, peace my bosomed nest.
Tadpole ponds waited all winter to undress.
What happened? To your vest?
The kingdom’s besters all sharp, abreast.
Remember O child has scented best
Its storms and vales blest.
I recall the tigers and the japes, wounds –
Summer crowds and singalong blues.
Jet expansion of a tech-world housed,
Keepers of the keepers keep them unaroused.
Hail the new bees!
For ‘tis in the springdirt I get my bare feet
Expending strengthful under the new day
And within its heart so many of these
Wings chasing to neighbor’s bonfire
My place for the day, softly.