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to abcs and from rimbaud

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cold in the house

not as if oblivion

deceptive arteries as exaggerated desire

erasure of support, compass swelling

and backhandled toward the mind

a ghost killed in passing

to resurface at eye level

death not replaced, but relived

a fleeting swarm of magic

(ô saisons, ô châteaux!)

telltales on many paper

signing themselves to be born

as ever for the best

to touch days of speech

thinking something “up”

a displaced look screening great detail at the roots

this business of taut exchange

above trouble

talk of the body, or layers, becoming

sometimes only one line

in the substance of unstopped presence

of traffic that seems equally natural, delectable

wolverines sighted in the heavy core of a stagnant morning

something left to chalk it up to

resilience not a questionable dodge

when you come forth commingling flesh

the air’s most thick off the beat

fewer names or smaller

but they join unsuspected into seances of the ordinary

don’t change one word

you won’t be able to surface but

there’s something that knows the illusion

will take care of that, too

projects self through stereotype

remonstrates the capacity of shelves to hold green hills

ground producing mourning between the rows

talk reflects a supplement at the outset

brilliant stinginess or subsistence of puritan water

a bitter dash, subdual lottery

forgetting the time it takes a convergence of hermits

stunned and mesmerized before

flummoxed breeze

it happens in these castles in which to picture

a kind of dancing on spirals

every view a place

this meaning this or else something

gizmo junction measure by measure given away

don’t mind being under the world

gusty thoughts feeding miraculous icons

the words do not escape without us

mongrel coffin taking the place of certain descriptions

changes a landscape

although borders and crisscrisses sign allegiance

grow and diversify until nothing is left of

everywhere shuttles a guise

altogether, the empty parts clamber for hunger

within seasons of fields of loved weeds

the truth a hopeful judgment as i commence to do

as if it’s ok to surround the dark

with things voluntarily remembered

a non-cessation of trees and flat land producing a mind

jags world lines in a red swarm of partial

distant children transfer plural code

aimed life in these pockets of air unabridged

misty tempo of plastic process

restless of transmitted flight

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October 1999

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