each tiny riverbreath swells
somewhat tepid answers – being
small disqualifies pretence
of grandeur – answers that
cling to sense of smell, a
remembrance shaken – nay shocked –
off its incipience; the quell
of this riversense with tepid
answers will soothe no priest
nor arbiter of command, nor
collector of largesse, nor seeker
of larger truths that thrusts
thrushvoice with godtrust, loudspeak.
The reminder is a double lack, a lack of being fully in the present and at the same time a lack of having left something essential behind. Filling out the now is as urgent a calling as reaching out for a more full yet-to-be. The wanting in both cases is lacking for want of remembrance.
The story of a forgotten
Want is deep in yesterday’s
Hell, knows how the crop gets
Swollen, how the knees will
Budge and hell shall muster
Up a croaking knell; to feel
The words swelling up your
Throat: an itch, a reminder.
a ruthless communion of
love that pretends the
naughts of a lessened heart
will yield the rights of
visitation, the full claw
and untainted roar of soil.
The poem seeks to be anchored in the sense of belonging to earth. The longing is reciprocal: the moorings will yearn for words that are meant not to soar but to go beyond an earth that is more human, more earth.
Nighttime is relevant to sense of smell, enduring
Dayfright, catacombed histories breathing out a
Weary how and when. Nighttime is redundant to sense;
The carriage of the inarticulate is not language but
The founding of it; nighttime is vilified in relation
To sense as unknown prepositions presuppose, propose
A finality of song; the roll of thunder, the slosh of
Riverfins, the thump of the mountainbrew, each the
Accompaniment of the unsung harp or the known trumpet?
An annulment of wordforms seesawing for adjustment,
Angling for a hearing, and mouthing of precious harms
To be undone by a revisitation of forms at nighttime.
The incessant trope, and its
Dismantling - tasked
The broom of loud taste will
Crumble - slow first
As one does with open leaves
Untangling - deepens
the poem sheens out a translucent
whim – and to
think otherwise is to reverse its
agreement to form and the parrot
of form; the poem thinks itself
out of a halo and goes back to null,