Memoirist
On
this bridge that spans the world,
say
world on worlds and add an s
for
swaying back and forth.
Freight
cabooses watch the tracks,
two
torpedoes signal watch
the
railroad 4D magnified.
Going
away a five year old,
On
High truth, switching and shunting,
look
out shifting, heating gets on.
A
small memoirist explores
the
worlds big oOOO OOOooo
that
clothes you body and soul.
Delicacies
Clam
and oyster delicacies,
intern
through the streets.
Tidal
influence at Old Town
reaches
far inland.
Wolf
to cub, curvilinear pi,
the
mind sees not the eye.
Old
Dame trots out some fish,
Elders
swing their censer lamps.
I'd
never seen a ship that sailed that wide.
Galloping
Galloway, look your neck;
there
you find the orbit phyllotax,
Tycho in the Moon, colony crates,
shape Ohio when Ohio once costumed.
On that Day the Picadors
drift humane aquarium weather familiar,
rearrange
curves and lines,
centers
of Quandarists, Rhetors against
Neptune
forests of Breton Woods,
A
thousand sprigs of thought,
Submerged
with dreams,
who ever saw a ship that sailed that wide?
Connect, connect, connect the lines.
Great Wall open as a kiln
Round as an apple, deep as a cup
shadow work to spoil
enlightenment of the seventh seal.
A commonwealth free to invade
all people as its own.
Riddles
in steady air rest causation,
meaning freedom compelled
while swimming fast in the other.
Surely some revelation is at hand
like
land fish swimming
between
the deep call that surrounds,
to overturn the once believed.
Countdown
You
can be unspeakable every day.
and
question breathing back.
Beginning
to be winter folk
began
to untangle rope
like
water from their feet and swim
downstream
where human forms array
to
walk at an hour before dark
when
countdowns starts and wisdom
in
the ears glides shapes of brazen sea.
Plunging
wave amnestic hearts
diverted
in the midst of blindness knew
the
most dangerous work was coming next.
The
prophet is a fool and the spiritual men are mad.
The
Orange Sea swallowed rock mesh nets,
internet
hemlock farms:
Engulfing drains, potential melee,
to slide into the sea, riots
of fever pitch ready, salvationists
as well. Leucoplasts in their hummers:
hospitalists with their gating:
All administrants
to personnel!
Photo cells turned red lights on.
The sun stabbed arms in a purple gown.
Epochs
Apocalypse
sat in his chair,
shoulders
to the left, knees to the right,
rock
head turned around.
The
face, the nose, the cheek, the brow
that
shades the eyes stuck out.
An
arm among hunchbacks
joined
three apocalypts.
A
girl and a guy with a lumping heart
with
an arm around her, looking down,
prayed.
The shoulders, heads, one by one,
three
long colonial hats on top,
I
suppose they fell from the rocks
from
that herringbone moving.
That’s
an eye hidden in the cliff.
But
somebody hasn’t been born;
They
say people that play with clouds are weird.
Who
sticks their buttocks out.
Toddlers
are in the rocks to hide,
Another
arm sticking out.
A
bird on a roost and a fat monk.
have
names for what the guy is doing.
Loss of a Billion
Alternate
histories gather
Illiterate
states of verse,
selves
in the billions matter
until
you feel the verge.
If
single life bereave
the
war lost being shown,
two
inches behind your nose,
who
will make the shroud?
AE Reiff - I go in as a blank slate, maybe just an impression of color. I see the Philistine Captives At Medinet and Bruegel, Goya behind ongoing compositions. It is a kind of exhaustion but work anyway to lay out a field of lights and cut strips, throwing them down so they come out with a rolling pin. which made it worse till I cut sections of it away with a knife and got this below. It is not my brain but my ear that tells me what is right when the narrative is beset with symbol which always comes after.
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