§
Dymaxion misunderstanding
a man wit cement shoes
sunk away from the aria of my love.
*
Ditched body in the voice,
Boss. Pluck open your doors
Bluebeard is architecture, sunk in.
*
Power, first things, that
old story, arche, placate
idol for luck. Give the walls something.
*
Tobacco or corn
the red mother
parthenogenesis of joy, beans.
*
From toucht dust
virgin spring,
casual, openly.
*
Speech a prophet
cured of apoplexy.
Ecstasy this cup,
*
Minimus:
the tiny hands of everywhere;
giant buried in the water-table.
*
Under high sun the flotilla
peaks the vocable crest.
Beans I’ll be.
*
Prick across the real
wood with joy
at the passing trees.
(....)
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