1.
SPELL
Lemon grass extract
on the floor this morning
to dream all day I thought
the lucid wakefulness of reactioned world
like an old time proof for what is
or isn’t. I would be answer-
empty or in a house of chaff
or the sea I saw taught me
its great incoherence. Careful
I pronounce the word
requires not complete stillness
but immobility, to let the body move
on its own so paralyzed my arms
slowly raise above my head, I speak thus.
2.
The truth sheds lies, and is most lively in their company.
A magician loves to reveal her secrets.
What else is the natural orgastic experience?
An appointment missed is an appointment kept.
“Could we ever find one word to say all that?”
Don’t.
Daena.
Diana.
Find a goddess. A pantheon. A broken bottle on the beach.
Wayfarers not sunbathers.
3.
Thin mist, as if another land, hand of the last faint purple remainder over those marvelous disgusting ocean things as in the moonlight they whither and regenerate. Turn to nothing and are washed up again. I began to talk of a genealogy that is the motions of the sun
Shouldn’t your reaction demand
over these defenseless
otherworlds. Their secret
pangs move through your answering
machine. Man is reborn every day.
I make up what of the world there is to answer. I have seen an eagle presiding over the ceremony of landing where you’d recognize it. Only this questioning reminds me of myself. Man is both younger and older than time.
4.
The Mountain Qaf
1.
The goat king scales the unforeseeable routes of where no one wants to live. It becomes harder to talk about the closer you get to your other. Those rectangular pupils follow not the mountain (certain death) but a stop-and-go plane of desire: the “colors of the wind.” Goats are fond of lies and Wagner.
2.
The Otter. It’s obviously a woman. A sea creature, but not too much. Not too landy either. Adjacent. A selkie. The one really talking when you pull a drowned man on deck. When he whispers in your ear. The otter lives on the goat king’s back, in the waters of who knows what. Na-koja-Abad. The other side of the mountain.
5.
Variations
1.
The greatest virtue is in whatever.
Whatever is, and remains enough to be written.
What study the day had in mind.
Two people asking directions from a figure in the shade of a tree.
Never reach the destination but talk through the foreplay of universal harmony.
We talked the garden away.
What they called shame is the lost metaphor, the dew evaporating from your skin.
2. (after a photo by Charlotte)
Sheer nerve props up the flimsy sky.
The rant and rave of cosmology.
There’s an angel telling you to come in if you get tired.
(...)
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