The Procession of Hours

1.

An elephant thinking about particle physics

of course that’s what it does what not

splashing itself with mud to ward off flies

and heat– it all says the same, no cognitive

limit besides the mistake of mind this lazy

watering hole she rolls down the street

and calls her husband. Say anything

the little bit of land we have will keep us

close to the ocean. Start talking and you’ll

find your way.

2.

Language still compels these memories

what we really need it never forgets

my syllabic friends, my thought of you

lights your way, away, wherever we go

conscious players in a nonexistent game

so the sparrows dance around their nest

with only the light inside, the exit sign

to show their way down from the sun.

3.

There’s no turning around to get home

that’s what’s meant by the procession

of hours, it’s for you on the path

to find dream hidden in sleep. Fall forward.

4.

There is no way without a me

this tiny sin that stands between the light.

This too is hidden, me

a dream waiting in your sleep.

Or so it’s translated literally

from what I imagine to be Chinese

this faint light that becomes you

just strong enough to see noon. No one.

A sort of moonlight on our human books

that all speak of the river.

5.

I guess I've noticed the theme 

is water, antidote we tell ourselves

translucent, pure flesh sliding along

thinking thinking’s syntagmatic floes

sky’s earthly body washing away the clouds.

6.

A Bad Car Dealer sells Bad Cars

subject predicate all we ever need to know

A for Anagogy Bud Charles did tell me

it all comes back to this famous Aleph

article from which I long ago set out

walking in the wrong direction, my Hebrew

calling the names of demons.

Doing it all wrong, as usual. But still we return

li angeli che tornavan suso in ceilo

the angels twister their way back to heaven, 

a susurrus up the downward road of their backs.