1
Rust in seaside wood and land
rediscover soul more than name
while bog dismantle bark
challenge the corridor demand
how bitten I am
overhoused by theme
for some reason our account got
arrows following relay box graffiti
mornings inclement lurk
a horse rented by the hour
unravel the wallet a borough dislodge
the sled we disorient
woke and they were digging
pointed night propel the sailboat rigging
gentle ballad object and my father
an arcade of empire at frenzy's mute
my mother disappears into
come ashore after I soak and wash the gun
nap in a sack of combat
like a note of cold water
the duckling orange wind
says cherry says rockslide
a cherry flavor lengthened scalpel
rings and say you too
six bullets wait for an outlaw
he has been here
stinking up a leather geography
2.
Hungry to get bright cloud I'm headless
I yell up god though the only snakes
identical what the sun treads
nightly initiate in the mercy of arrival
I'm a reporter for Rolling Stone
half rodeo'd into this perished forest
I thundereth in the orchard the bed
go sloppy against careless gale
irresistible as break of day
I carry a few coins in my pocket bright song
intone a terrible array of last gestures
in the gloom that last saw him
commence on the instep
a long troubled artistry
that has not been heard from since
what I carry is rock scoured white
why there is a good driven word for it
and its North American equivalent
like the stop action uncertainty of markets
restless tying into what's consequential
the manner in which people talk around a child
how my father refuses to give his cat a name
responds to comments about it crawling
tabby beneath the bed or claw the quilt
irritably responds to what is and what is
not of consequence one cannot avoid moving
college students smoking on a porch
3.
What is the silence for it
wholly identical to itself
if it find saltine night
a gnaw we call thought
or does it decide not to belong
as if tree were antler
or bear a portrait
a framed calm
I hearted the city bound for a moment
mush of traffic's puddle
my hair too at sunset smooth
next will rarely sidereal plod
still reinforced by ferry
nicked or interlaced having truth
not x but age
like plastic it knows no way to die
goes under or becomes lit water
I was nothing coming into this name
or whatever is called
the nameless avenue that cuts
a long pillow again
the sky's wet
hard ancient feet at her gate
bugs scuttle home
our bare brief jeweled guitar
goes gone bright unknown
wilderness lands to write what songs
grease left on a fork
a king carries groceries
along the frontage road
lickweed blooms in the yard
branches cover the house's abandonment
behind it down as if to heaven
last glimpse going in
echo clouded I look up
from my work
what am I allowed to know
close a soft years I hear rain
sharp as a closed knife
which is a condition of sorrow
some words into a soonafter
forgotten in the tallgrass
rusts beside a draft horseshoe
foul a shape of a horse
in backyard dark year drawn out
they led me to the disturbance
to share what she was before
when she tells me category intervene
or sleep a close retreat
I swore at them I dropped my cup
at a vehicle on a shoulder
or sunken log submerged
sweat turns everything
which is my cure
4
What forces are being collected
against my animated face
apparition red scratch
by whom I can't tell face in the dark
and as far as body is concerned
no more than a candle burnt on a chair
or clothes worn by my father
a picture like other pictures
as in the cabin we cook or eat raw
beast and bee sting the door shall open
roll for my part I feel forced to fall back
hard for inquirer to hold at least there is
no resulting injury I can read and write
I've not been schooled much
imperfect and fluctuating like an inner door
it never enters my head or otherwise
known only to myself a long remain
high fence I fall ill lurid and scattered
and yet the scratch on the cheek
where the bones are laid is the way home
wind on the surface of the sea what mind
these images originate I am getting
older just as I begin to speak