Sunday, March 9, 2014

the clouds bowe over the lake-lens


obvious


the first force seeks
the lamellating crow,
and where the formal hide is vain,
a white line transgresses
the storied otto


to punitive leer,
let the teeming echo
be drawn
to the wounded hand,
the smooth wooden duck
bobbing in colloidal seas
of wine
and crystal,
'cloud-veiled'
grows the table


obvious
the oval mirrored knight
become a kinder klinking
ici
ici là
ici là-bas
ici là-haut
direct the blok any how
you'd shoes
for the tree grows face down
and the boots
are ever-flowering


grim total
laughter 
joy
the drift wood wind
the daisy halter falter
and lamp laurel lace
a handle
come closer to the word
its pale jade fang
like a transparent chair
will hush wide crescents


and doubtless 
the radiation more supple than mind
will meld
the furred amoeba-boar bear
with silver reindeer antler-helmet
never let my cry
go forth in vein
force finding
furrow


along its built
cadaver thread
the wedding's summer
the summer's bole
the path's tender doubling up
and helium
grown so sodden
in white pants
the stranger's breath
fell and crumbled to the deck
hong kong
surrounded by plants


#thewhiteforest
or exploding bouqet of furniture..
when force feeds the box
compose
yourself seem sentenced
to the thread
now at constellation head
out clear gannet
out lyrical scanners
imagine their war
like throbbing veins
in trembling stones
lovely are the footstep
for plankards


your moment,
his,
mine,
the gift foal
shifts for the dappled courage alight
no pilot
its concrete wills
blaspheme
for daylight
into coming 
cry
force fills gestures


obvious now
the open hand
whose flutter
a vampire
a vampire bird
avert your eyes
from the gorgon stutter
(flutter or flowering force)


and so
I charge on you hoarse
with the lamellating crow


the sweet fleece
of its pitch high gel
in tow
where the neck goof
flanges
an overly soft hyphen
give bellmer his due
give zabriskie
give unica
seek for force in the flowered V
bricks of white flowers
stones
of opium zombies


the tide is right
and strange


and all growth more
correct
(hat-thing-chance-change)


the crow's foot
like a blood-plow
is a tongue-lyre


and the longest yard
horts a pebble
to the dryest pose


give back your lame clear daisies
to my boiling gelatin rays
and i will meet you at the feat you
roiling bollocks old flame


the good taste
in poet
won't a light
for any photograph
unknown
(towards)
"itself"


sky-gravy comes from Pinocchio


wit is a hoard
with winter
thick white paste
its whipping coal


I've built no cloudy candles
in flowing black tents


obvious


i saw (was) the chog of heire


each thin button a computer


each bracing whisper a crown


and the greatest wish
our mule
where the meadow
meads
the town


its great and happy climax
a vortex
virtue
(obvious)
so occlude