Poet as hark

– Poet as hark
As thimble, ear, sense of what
As hark – where the sense of what gives ear to

Wednesday – where each noon is assembled, bled a

As sense of when; harm is pillow; dire
Banked – where we growl away the sense of where

– How does the poem listen?
How does the poem listen?
With the

Bulb of the pen in still
Ness giving

The moon a month to stare –
How does

The poem listen? as agree
Ment to

Stay on course as the jet
Of ink

Relents; off course the well
Blurts out

There is a source I draw from, a source

for the leaf to wither now as it is time
asking for the
                       gin of yester
day to cease to 
this source where dank mixes with sweet mixes with musk

poet as solvent

to solve is
   change to bre
to leave a stone where the voice of water burns
   to solve is to bre
athe to mock the volume the sheer vapidity of 
You've already begun to chime when the straight line
geometers a 
    wrong circle and gasp; you've already
lost out two breaths in this circle

poet as response

as a point of solemn untaint    the repose    response of the valid call    intrinsic to the have-to   an urgent malediction    candor    clip of will    wit     assumptions of untaint

So you see the plastic dripping
in all crevices,

You see the hinges tweaking a
Sorry bent, you

Hear the laments and hurrahs, the
Pew-hymns and

Haw-hums grappling with an easy
Morning, and

You want to play, but the rules
Are rigged, yet

You want to play, and change the
Jagged strokes

Of verseforms that are immense
Yet sad, exact

Yet wrong, very wrong, and
You want to

Change the jagged strokes; set
It right now.

core meanders about the peripheral

where door meets plaster and the
rim of new

lets the spark of its steel mend
the ripped

On the caress of form – the

agreement to proact – on the

of form – the typology of

gavels hit on the noose of

poet as abstract

the truesomeness of the abstract

forms an inadequate tryst with

& grasps the root the supple dint

of root & miss – the grappled un

what is manged by the volume of verity   it is dust’s own   what is sung by tremor by noon’s surrender by the tap of a hungry chord   it is dust’s own   we cannot arrange this word as it falls off the tapestry   it is done   it is the opposite of word   the scene is rife with other words   it is dust’s own

The arbitrary plonk is
this river’s demure

upbringing; it will swim
when it can, and when

its wrists slacken, you
don the filament of ash

Perhaps you
  tuned your
  mouth as the wash of ancient

Mouths would
  have you do;
  perhaps your art of deliverance

Is shoulder
  and head,
  and perhaps this too is oblique

poet as project

the poet as project as

of void meets poignact
as cup

of a holy warmth blued

as reverie mix of mint
dew us
This is power robbing what it must this is 
                   power             taint
       moist - throb
       ss, this is power  - it
       knows    is power             taint
       moist -    rob
       ic e

pre-nouns and post-causes
the valence of a retired morning
finds cause

in split hearsays, auxiliated pre
nouns and post

causes; there is violence in how
the word is


poet as act

The poem of the act of the mind

The act of the mind is rest
ful play

bound as if teeming with meander
as if calm

is not even a distant possible

plonks of wordspill litter the

These words have a wilt too

These words have a wilt too their
Barrage of crispness is tone-deaf
To uncertainty; please your bones
And sly your emulsion, to please?

These words have a wilt too overt
In salute, brief in decomposition
Yet by yet by drawn yet; thimbles
Of uncertainty; please your bones

feet of an ism
How can the unfathomable feel the feet
Of an ism? There is

Prophecy, there is flora/anticipation/
Ground of an ition-

How can the plural of forms reign when
The singular is ar?

Libidinous adjuncts to capital sentences
Multiply issively-

poet as past

witness the word in extinction as it tries to catch flame     but there is no past as you try to forget    but there is no hint of yearn to climb out of the past as you try to forget   and the word it catches a sorry flame  a flight a plight of memory       the rot will address you with a candor   it will – the rot goes     away – it does     will the perhaps join with the possible? there are shadows there is the surrender given by shadow

What is forgiven is a sword’s
Bluntness in the face of the
Swill of a broken pen, a jar
Full of ink and a dry parchment
Remembering the tree that bore
The sun’s astute light and the
Night that hung over your song
As it hummed a whisper, and we
Listened, and it is forgotten.

the kinetic past is residue
   of whole dismemberments

as it rushes past what it’s
   due as it gleans the dew

from yet another morning
   dreamt of at another time

another rim of ancientness
   sloshed in potency as rhyme

How shall I use the burning bush if
Moses is not calling? Twelve hundred

BC – give or take a few hundred – and
You get ahistorical amnesia, the

Burned bush vying for complements &
Additives; memory is short, slighted.

We want to burn that
   carcass, to sing the
   trap, to mine each

Dime of trope; this is the
   carcass of time that
   reads every prophetic

Din with erasure, each myopic
   doom with time’s undying
   rapture of forgetting.