1.
“I’m more of an outline, and less of a character
And to salute what passes for commotion. Permutation
it more eddies around me than time leaves others:”
Noontide credo. Mores and intention.
(to salute an admirable ghost—Apologies! Apologies!)
“The Autumnal” (and wings are clipped, lunches repacked,)
a pizza with Roger I guess we discussed the friendly
Blue bottle vespa cuts the cobbles. I hasten to myself
discussion and the hush finally sifting down waves
Shall it question or state the balcony?
of December getting old enough “to reach royalty
at noon. Good news gives rise to the kite.
with love.” a pizza with Grace I guess
too late to darn the gaps. Brown thread snapped in the blind
2.
of great sad chances.)
That romances, this side weepy
from the start’s a story in the past
Our trash swept all over long ago
holiness I rolled out riddled and flat
You! me out of my moment
most speechless, Louise, he
billowing… It is a piece of French
What’s the matter with what’s where noticed
and the kite the kite!
When I finally fold into your arms, I’m a million times more
if Jo won’t hang around the hearse
stones tucked up to be summer’s amaze
itself the “matchbox.” He
3.
of December getting old enough “to reach royalty
I too am climbing and libraries of ladders
To the slow returning seasonal riddle
older in empty churches, in light of Louise,”
“The Autumnal” (and wings are clipped, lunches repacked,)
smile, hers, on the front of his face
“I’m more of an outline, and less of a character
to bathe a sad youth shut window pane,
you looked as if I needed distant air
Rows of teeth and a prison opens a mouth
which meets us our walking backward in doubt
I followed the clamor in circles for you
Deep in the Bighorn alone, I swept my cell
And so casts out It spluttering so
4.
fine print behind bars is open shut
what falls opener skies oratorio
The arc of Jo’s flaming hands. “Tomorrow
Say, “I’m ever fallen from being ever naked”
open open poem shut shut
a rainbow whether irredeemable
Curtains fall, and they aren’t curtains. She hears computer complaint
Jo and Lou in the stacks
Sunday matinee (with the man with the dress
“I’m shame, thank you”
Intermission is over bells
of May. five springtimes Louise
the Horizon threads straight and several
Following the service, cookies and bad coffee
5.
And the matter of what’s where noticed
It is a crooked painting.
inflatable Eden in the trash again
the distance to farthest things
misprized horizon misprision you stir I—drop it
a deep stain fingers before falling (summer tucked up
as sometimes I talk to frozen glass
This rejoicing, Roger, for being ever naked!
I unfold dark sleeves. Sullen glances in sleep.
and more eddies around me than time leaves others”
Departed) in the smoky hearse
In Louise’s poem called “Rainy Morning,” I thought
) Nobody need snap you snoring anywhere
He is the horizon.
6. . . .
In Berrigan’s The Sonnets, there is no such thing
when each their separate rooms she time
: leaves: Boom: other
I followed the clamor in circles for you
Barely each their dawn a woman drags in
prayer , a parachutic Sunday
of what’s where noticed
More than hoax-headed lissome spinster shame. Not this hour
Breaks her path and so she prays rapt knee
bait (could we leave it at that?)
And so casts out It spluttering so
in a matchbox, a storm of chances
now remove one finger…
Matches Rain, ourselves, dust, matches, milk
Aunt Maggs and let it be
we screw flame into our fingers arc love
. . 7
Roger’s half-memories, next to and
Nor the one where I causally discuss comma usage: “The
far way reached assurgent
clock hands it shoves into our pockets
And we promise never to quench a woman
that’s to remember her dragging in the leash
Through childhoods
conflated with the Yellowstone
Will bend while broke, cast out respoken
by a hackneyed kiss in foil.
(Absent the climb when spoken to
speaks
. . 7
(given the little knees we’ve got
which meets us our walking backward in doubt
shall my long leafy letters know of my plea:
getting old enough to grasp one another
then boo
as you alone >>>race to sparser trees
in basements. Holy ghosts, stained glasses, glitter
Who’s jail holds . whose doesn’t
Her mouth, well Boom:
and the keys await on the door’s other side
Maggs exits musics shows! … lunch
and the inflatable promise of Eden
6. . . .
Other mornings come from every room
the wait dinosauric. What’s miraculous is!
and it’s wonderful slow
ly Deep Eden no ice cream in be
d, Roger asleep around Maggs I’m absurd
In here now almost writing The Little Bighorn
Matches Rainourselves dustmatchesmilk
Hello Grace’s friend from church
I scrutinize the chair en face, empty
darker sleeves what falls far from the
nest in triplicate: outlier spectacular,
Roger’s warmer, does without Summer leaves a cipher.
Rainbow of irritation deflates the arrangements
rehearsed and rehearsed) a hook in our throats
the arc of Jo’s hands, flaming. “Tomorrow
III against III it’s delicate—
5.
We still stage directions in time with the waltz
on the verge of (lump, sniff) her appraisal the epic hiker
hides the hymn in the plainer house. One
without Maggs it’s kiteless oh
lemme outta the radio says baguette!
Curled in tribute to La Chevelure, by Baudelaire. Charles Baudelaire,
the same models of different underwear
Stocking selves littered along the waterfront
Will is a while leaned into
but in case of days, doubt interrupts it
Oh Hello Grace’s friend from church
Our trash swept all over long ago
with love.” leftovers I thought you minded.
4.
She rises already turning, click
of what’s where noticed
(to salute an admirable ghost—Apologies! Apologies!)
Matches Rain, ourselves, dust, matches, milk,
Pearls like Grace Kelly leaned into
by forces of attention the distance
Breaks her path and so she prays rapt knee
Before the dawn eccentric. Fingers the Roger cue
she pecks at the nest where he wove color
Lost as a tooth that ends and ends and ends
the rocks tender for a look! Sorry, no rose
run aground, every sad page She finds she cannot
Roger’s head in the trash again
hearse panting up the switchbacks
3.
Following the service, cookies and bad coffee
if they pleased. Two and me you and two
Why, Maggs is the tooth, the sooth if Jo’s the youth!
two three One two three Once
a poem Lou is snoring on the balcony
by the seat of old pants, Emptier chairs
I followed the clamor in circles for you
another parachutic Sunday
holiness I rolled riddled and flat
of the key, bored
Molecularly yours,
his crumbs in the gap still small for the change
Lou’s good as baguette cut.
good news all that, the kite
2.
And to salute what passes for emotion. Permutation
Through childhoods time is young
and it’s wonderful Rainbows of irritation
she pecks at the nest where he wove color,
I’ve got lines a million a molecule
As I am limb and you nucleic:
to the farthest things
a poem is he
with love.” a pizza with Grace I guess
royalty! The soul of a limb is wandering unseen,
She stopped Roger in the street to exclaim
discussion and the hush finally sifting down waves
All delicate drifts may be mine of him
the keys await on the door’s other side
1.
Alphabesque? Barbecue. Rehearsals and rescue
the teeth trade. Tells you you’re told
it more eddies around me than time leaves others.”
Invocation, aspirations of absence! And they go
each the other’s stage fright
At night she reads the Bible, and says, “a star is born.”
(Other mornings come from every room;
come back tomorrow – see if it’s old
unsliced the pizza thrice repacks the
Oxford rule, dummy!” Damn, I keep hiccoughing
“She thinks if I’m Jo Lou’s mistaken”
since dead tricycles talk too much
that it doesn’t untick in between
broke against her haunts) the rival kites.
and more or less of it suits itself.
Across Beyond 