859 Too mortal for this frame, That boded sky so lightly, And busied once this winter tree With all-present contention-- Now--pristine feather-- Is it warranted to say, After this death, no other.
22 February 2009
858
21 February 2009
857
856
20 February 2009
855 The haze at sundown slant Break that shape anew; The dryness and the dust-- The fucking dust in every glass-- And hell's term intercalated thus With such fine grains As richly inutile as my handed means To render death its gravity.
[image of Matthew Brady photograph]
18 February 2009
854
16 February 2009
853
852
851
15 February 2009
850 That parenthesis the shadows-- The venetian whisper Congruent to air touching light, As if a thought in brackets Tense for motion Resides in a shimmer Complicit with calculation's hidden eye.
14 February 2009
849
848
12 February 2009
847
10 February 2009
846 Of circumstance but a part, Sufficient to a consequential hour's Span occult-- One infinite within the next, As primes countless but subsumed-- As end of means precedent.
08 February 2009
845
844
07 February 2009
843
842
06 February 2009
841 If prose were possibilty The words might trickle Up To topple at one thought or two And fill a smallish cup. A simple vessel would suffice To hold a liquor odd-- Of sunlight or eternity, For toiler and a god. Intoxication with what is Unseen by daily eye Is possible's distillation-- Sensibility to descry.
