confined to open spaces

the political economy of inaction
is the poem
  it rests
  confined to open spaces
  dense in not being
is the poem
  inaction?
  confined to open spaces
  sense it not being
the poetical economy of inaction

by confining yourself to the pure and simple, you will hinder the whole world from struggling with you for show.

Chuang Tzu

the small kali

the small kali whispers a little death
  the orange skin in the morning sows heat the memory of heat & dissolves

this month is not possible as it tires of the motherly yeast, fatherly axe, crumbs of fallen laugh   this month is the apogee of a resisting moondance   it is weary of the sunstory as fillin for snakehead & wolfshine

the small kali can hear the mancloud tremble
  the bronze tint in the morning sows hunger the reason for hunger & dissolves

I-dea

I-dea – goddess of insight   some think it muse
    some choice thought
    some care   less word

I-dea – the flood which brings tooth to tale, blood to moon, hark to riversong
    the shimmer of wood as it ashes into pulp
    gift of her
    sleight of him, the
    tangent/radius/age of world
    wish to will &
    fire   not hound not spear
    my deep   my roar
    some think it muse   some care   less word

rank in box of want

the machinery has glottilitis
the machinery cannot spell its name
the machinery reasons, “can this be
                 what the machinery wants?”
the machinery is want is rank is box is rank-in-box-of-want
the machinery is not possibility
                 is not about to become impossible on its own
the machinery has glottilitis
                 is not about to become impossible on its own

this poem is feel

this poem is feel
it goes round the absolute and comes out
mud
this
poem is
feel       it is naught & unknot at the same time
              it is heavy & feline under the same tree
              it is less & less the same lie       this poem is feel

the catch of the wind

where the shoots of spring will
bear stone &
          river      we will forget who to forget
          this dance of an egret will
          watch over my night my wick of night

the catch of wind snaps us as
being snow
          becoming the field of yellowed snow
          becoming what yellow used
          to be as snow      when we talk of

strangeness, the glue and
haste – when
          we arrive as trees as brothers & sisters
          the glue when the looks are blue & the boys
          and girls sit around the tunnel, adrift –

In the simple dumplings of war
the gravy
          settles for groove, the master tells
          who what when & we play the peace toon,
          platoons are dispatched to calm nerves, dis

member from that      play
the peace
          toon, these simple simple dumplings
          of war – we will forget who to forget when
          we talk of strangeness, the glue and haste –

an unspeaking door

i.
I have no truck with the unspeaking door      no truck
with pain

that loves the king’s rattle      no truck with eyes that
pluck nether

shades      no truck with luminescence or gore or the
passing field

where seed is ditched where the pitch of a tired crow
will shriek –


i+1.
Each seat of wear
         turns the bread of summer chrome
         it is

Level it is bound
         to tear    the sound of ease is drowned
         it is