peaks
and the city
–wan mass
of Writing
Marked with
weeds.
Certainly squirrels live in the woods
hung sleep quelled the rioters
marble
minor
rods of
air
some quiet bird nothing for
pride
light boats perform
or a harbor a light
to found
paper the land magic
made of paper
processed other
corners
rolled seclusion
spent
flung vineyards and
oyster beds and
electric
area wrinkles
seminaries
area Wrinkles
the bath the bed
the formal ox
the cart
the grown mountains peeled your
razor edged between from the map
everything by small gray Light
and warded drama machinery
and quietly the rinsing
Vulgar assassins the peaks the city And
wan writing marked with weeds
Certainly squirrels live in the woods
Hung sleep quelled the rioters Minor
rods of air some quiet bird Nothing for
pride or a harbor
Light boats perform a light
Oyster beds electric seminaries area wrinkle the formal ox, the cart. To found
paper, the land, made of paper, processed other corners Magic spent in
seclusion melody on flung vineyards
Your between is grown mountains the razor–edged map of peeled drama Everything by
small light by grayed machinery
And quietly the rinsing from our poet Filthy
with the poem
On vineyards and oyster beds, the electric wrinkle of
seminaries and bed & breakfasts stuck
like carcasses in the shoreline, your razor edged
mountains fell.
Grayed machinery. Light boats performed a light print.
The map peeled everything away by
guarded light, rinsing vulgarities in the
Sound.
Rinsing our poet, filthy with the poem. Here,
talk the fable:
Emerged a tower into past, into tapering artifice of sky.
The feeling of yourself became useless, as void charged like a beacon. Your
creative middle an instance of air, the logical climate went tender. A mountain
poured out all the wind.
A petal broke
A rainbow.