Thursday, August 2, 2012

Bug String Jargon


and then pressing the fair cotton string
through the soft block of neutral clay
and letting it dangle stuck to the page
and paint it red for awhile then snip
resting it in the pips of the cinched
up stomach where a foam of opal
gathers a burst of blackbirds
as quotient

trained to ring the valley but disobey
each little body later then pressed down
into a cavity of clay where it will remain
for awhile until the color bleeds up
wicked up in the string to join the flowing
discussion abounds without order for form
could flop right in the face and the artist
sitting there glass scissors glinting moonlight
sonata boy yob glowing with phosphorous
tiny turtles gathering in the corners of her
mouth the first delectable woven thing
its curtsy small in the blowing

and around the puckered window
to its room close harmony prevails
and a thrumming of harvests sped up
by stop action anyway the pride sauntering
to their equal orange parasols among the grasses
bunched by retracting verbals to hunch
ghostly outlines drawn on a cymballine locket
the enamelleur's frosted finchelings sparkling
to geodial neck clamps for in plato's urvaline
cave the crystal has invaded the bone of the
skeleton, bone pencil urping string

and the opal madonna sings
thick hairy bulbous day for
skin ship sway and elegant monkeys
take to the rigging threading string
and they thread it through everything
and a grasshopper leads the way
to the blowhole where the marble hides
slowly rotating its eye
and gushing comets

and that way
the muddy string comes into the
foreground again like a friend to say
this string has no boundary
but is every boundary itself informed
the broken gliding norm that sure simple
torn and the bobbin could be anything
mummies of clover floating as rigid as anvils
above the horses heads as they flow through
the lanes and soft mud ooozes over the balcony
to fill the streets and rushing day its envelope
is a gilded phlegm of stowing

urnapul foss
let loud dominance prevail
for if the mouth cannot be scene
its open forecasts remain
all folded in the cone
whose openings assure
a careful owning
of strange uncomfortable
furniture while string bodies
persist at least their
mandala of speakers
imploding on the key
how to detain its distress
before the knowing
string breaching the ocean
in pain but flowing
beads of waves
and cloning display
all displeasure a color
a mane picked clean
of mites for toning