this much we know

The poetic possible sits alongside with
say the etymological

But can it run ahead? Without a hint of
disdain can the fire

Hurry up any more than it can burn? The
remote is now nuanced

Into a silent belief in tinynesses that
beget, belie, behold-

here is a graver explanation; this much
we are in agreement

the rope of the grave lies in steep
question; this much

we can say is true; whether the will
is coalesced or roped

into a managed soliloquy, I cannot say,
but this much is allowed

this need & dare

“This first bright day has broken
the back of winter” (1)

As you will it, as you make day beckon its
wince, its sense of pay

“it does not pay to cherish symbols
when the substance
lies so close at hand” (2)

at hand is metal
it is shunned by pieces of,
remnants of burnt life

“my shoulders are dead leaves
waiting to be burned
to life” (3)

leaves welled up as tears are
torn again with the grind of
spade    another morning, an
other funnel of seedless faith

“I do not know when
we shall laugh again
but next week
we will spade up another plot
for this spring’s seeding.” (4)

And I know not when your
sun will drown this
piece of land, this need &
dare    yours, mine.

1-4: from Audre Lorde’s poem, “Walking our Boundaries”

A closeted riverbed speaks

how does my fondness for solving
the apparitioned problem

chime with the poem? the mis-
represented danger that

threatens: is it dark because it
is obscure or do you

smell a further abyss? cognition
is sensibility & the

problem will be solved as love
equates with the poem

& the burden of tangled knots
dissolves, overflows

the zone of the torrid

my X upon theta of whirl
lone gobs

are stunned into bellow
and I bind

A closeted riverbed 
           Come cut

The lower half and expand
Come    dress up this mar
With the green spiff cult

A closeted riverbed
           Come wit

conjure me up a stone

undone by my want of shine
the lack

of lustre propels stands as
night we

are not moons pretending to
be stars

we are pendants of fullness
tried tried


Wearing the sworn gold
God in

mayhem - conjure me up
a stone, round, sloppy


This dust has become anon    it breathes what 

6 unpast presences – mauve & glue

Truth in relation, in the fulfilment
of tongues

Waging minimal war – how does relation
stand visavis

Curvature, or the agnostic premonition
that solves?

Truth in negation, in the crucible of
further, more.

These atoms have spoken the truth of blan k stares
this iron smoke away from the cloth of s park
this s poke of tremor
ball o f three falls in each forested rain
These atoms have spoken the th rust as if history

prismed to be unfree of dark/
chasm of my

lit night calls each name –
chime of my

unlit brothers, I solemn,
afraid, fly

divest me of all the filth and what
have you but

a storm of infinitesimal possibilities
natured into

a listless lie, the burnt out red pose,
a stooged 1

binarying as a flipped 0; divest me of
that and there is

none of this.

seep now this power stricken
sump of late of

magnanimous urgency to delay

seep now to gather what snow
weathered to

vet another rising distance –

In the unhindered ploughing so
desperate to feel noonbreath,
hindsleight and the unplush hum
of haste, there is this mauve &
glue binding each wave of must
to shall    we have terror, tenor