Tuesday, February 7, 2012


It's as if I would not get - get well again
The plane in the sky writing cursive

At one of the many institutions of art - museums
Or fine writhing - near the mall or on a dirt road
Where an older woman was growing mandrake
Accidentally in front of the mirror

A man kept looming in the kitchen
With an ambiguous tool or bauble
As if the mysterious fear had a short
Handlebar with an Oakley grip

An Asian pear as seen through the ragtime rain fall
As if the Sonata Pathétique had been composed by Scott Joplin
But had called it _The Oak Leaf Rag_

It's as if I had a printer for different flavored syrups
But the nozzles had been infected
And were making different colored

Forget me not. Edelweiss. Bier. Wiki.
The common cold brought its common warmth,
Chalice carved from pear, and Jesus
Carved from pear, and Mary carved
From pear, and Oakley grips
Were maps of air

Sleek black pinafore without a rider,
The origami panther of the pre-mapped
Synamtic object

Bleak house.
Accidentally the black licorice bridge's
Musculature, the cabling
Some sense of the folly of their architecture
And beyond, the use of mandrake
For sympathetic inheritance.

Sympathetique. Grande.
Rabbit is a taboo word on the Isle of Portland.
It's because of the quarries, because of the temporal association
Of seeing the dreaded coneys come out of their burroughs in the rocks
Just as the crystal cleaving resistance mind drew officially
The death of the workers in the hole.

A quarry kept looming in the kitchen.
It had come across a road built on a tombolo,
And its chiseled beach laid mooning.

There was a very lovely girl, a very long time ago,
And once I wrote her a story about intelligent rabbits
From deep in the earth
With the hard clear crystalline eyes
Of flies.

For her sympathy.
Or professors.
The Eyrr is dry
And full of spheres
Furred in keys
That wish to kiss
Your inner nose,
The noise begins.