Friday, October 14, 2011

Sloping Rails

tonite i would bury
its faded brown obvious

bai mu er
buy more air

each snake of medusa's head
has the sleepy loping wig
of snow fungus

and like kindling in a cup
there is frost worked over the blanket
iron chief and tony
are shaving by the aspens
and where the stream turns improbable

a huge ruddy baby
buried up to the neck
is singing
the horses nudging wet noses
at its enormous fuzzy ears

these tin beans
are compact
jet engines