1. |
||||
Return,
go turn around.
Take to the ends
what you’re allowed
by peoples’
personae,
—in a sense—
their own way
of balancing
the unweighed,
who play along
still afraid
of a young
cup bearer
who has never
been fairer.
Rejoice,
go read ahead
what life before
you’ll live again,
and if not
on purpose,
was a chance perforce
not worth it
for the towns
or for the years
you spent alone
you’re spending here
a mystic,
a missile,
a warm winter
or whistle.
Go quick command
unrevealed
in its ends
which, unannealed,
dance with a
crowned locus,
—this dance appears
motionless—
lack nothing
in the menial,
turn only twice
the wheel
—the first turn
to overlay
another for
another day.
Retell
with no tale.
Go surefooted
as entails
the present
of long ago,
a-skipping-round
your own shore
sea green,
blue, wood brown,
as if for me
it’s yours now,
a silver cup
with no surface,
you dream again
that you lift it…
|
||||
2. |
Owl and Oneirodidae
02:26
|
|||
Who in his
reservoir
burns fuel
in the fuselage,
and bound is
the memoir
in who
binds through uncollage.
Intrapreting dis
-placed dreams
or interpenetrating un-
seam-ly things,
in you,
in you, in you,
for whom his reservoir
—with depth
enough to hold
him off
from assem
-bling a PEMDAS—
is sweet from bitter-
er loss?
En-
visioning en-emerald bare-
hands-fishing for
the ocean-est floors,
in you,
in you, in you…
Hoo-hoo by
the reservoir
and down
one is the glowing stock
—as night
settles in stars,—
Oneiro-
didae, go deeper…
|
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