30 December 2011

A call in the street in winter,
Unseasonably garbed
In the verge of spring's creatures'
Tastes of years.
Unforeseen not unexpected
Is some score winters gone.

21 December 2011

I do not represent
Or signify
One thing beyond this small space held;
No voice to sound
To who would hear,
No eye to sight
What cannot be seen.
From a piece of time
Does the least feather of a pigeon depend,
And my mortal soul,
That spires could touch
If I would them,
With every else will end
In the merest trough of matter,
A once of nothing.

13 December 2011

Tho the wind sat in my sail's shoulder
I would not sail being not
Of sails.
What wind that'd snap a canvas
Stir an instant fixed?

07 December 2011

With what animal fervor
Is lust's object chased
With sly emblems of love:
So the iron hot
National Geographic worm
Of lava taints
The vast press of coolness with its blood red
Transactional variation
Of something both shaped and shaping.

24 November 2011


Doe sloe eyed
Is consequential
In this morning's field equations
Along the unreal axis:
She is the complex root
Of my equal I.
Sloe eyed, once,
Was consequential
In a fluorescent light.

11 November 2011

Make this thing without your worth,
And empty be;
The morning sun that new-sets a world's
Fine tracery
Is not yours,
For its currency has no name.
No receptivity as fine
In what it perceives
Serves your phantom'd sight,
That wants what is not there.

04 November 2011

Because the wind is high
I ache to breathe in the space between
What sees and what is seen,
As if all time were stopping there,
As if an earth were sky
That choked fictitious emotion.