STARS LEAVING THEIR PLACES

STARS LEAVING THEIR PLACES

She lists well, that is

She neither perches

Or will sing, but coraciiform

And with catoptric eye reflects

All that is best in love and searchs,

Lively as a leveret

Room upon sweet room of

Heart’s folly, almost a test

To see what’s only guessed in

The lippers of emotions

That in their ruffling defines

The shape of depths

That lie below mere words.

The heart with its working,

Sucked up from the sea,

She sees as silver fish,

Forgeries of jewelry.

lists - an archaic use of the word as a transitive verb meaning 'to be pleasing to;suit.

coraciiform - an order of birds with strong sharp bills, usually bright coloration like bee eaters or hornbills.  One of my favorite families theyalways have a haughty look to them.

catroptic - not that obscure but it means reflecting or related to mirrors.

a leveret is a young hare but hardly anyone calls them that these days.

and lippers - ah yes, a slightly rough surface of a body of water.  I used to hear it on the Great Lakes but haven't heard it for years.

THE DARKENER

Dave Boles

THE DARKENER: RING AROUND THE ROSY OH

And so the Darkener came and placed his hands

In those of the Sickener and so they resumed

Their trek to destruction. And also so as tales

Go, they found a flea to carry their torture.

And it’s Ring around the rosy oh, the fever pitch

The crazy bitch that chases its tail in destruction

A pocket full of posies go as round the ring the

Dancers go, scratch at the fleas and think no more

But ashes, ashes, they all fall down  And the Quickner,

And the baker and the glad undertaker go round the ring

Again for children playing, go past the reaper grim and

All for playing, playing, playing.  And all in fun for playing.

WHERE IS GOD TODAY?

WHERE IS GOD TODAY?

Oh there is a terrible crying on the night air.

Children with dreams caught in their mouths,

Unable to speak.  The thick vengeance of sleep

Full upon them.  Wolves of sleep, cast not thy

Blowing eyes upon our small dominion.

We meant no harm.  We have even erased

Our poor names from the doors of

This kingdom.  Still our ears

Fill with the sounds of sirens and

Fearful gnashing of teeth.  A mad alarum

Chases through the night blood of our cities.

Our pulses spurting madly into its flames.

Oh there is a terrible crying on the night air.

And we softly lie here listening to the

Calm oceans of our breath as it wonders the

Stars with its sweet rhythm.

THE NIGHT IS BEAUTIFUL

THE NIGHT IS BEAUTIFUL

The night is beautiful

With its lips full

Upon the thighs of Summer.

It swirls the moon

Through clouds and spews

It high and bright and round

The dome of its fine home.

Crickets in their dark

Lovemaking, sing the praises

Of the grass and breezes,

A rhythmic transubstantiation

Played in scraping stridulation

To a counterpoint of August dark.

There, then and only then,

We take our breath out walking

On the milky paths of full moon

Shining and cast our glances deep

Into its lap of dreams, to hold

Just but a moment, for a moment

Only, all the crazy swirl of star

Light unto ourselves that we

May be this way before it.

INDUSTRY

Rebecca Gozion

INDUSTRY

I had an emotional bypass,

A valve job on my feelings.

Now I’m pure Teflon II.

Nothing sticks, nothing penetrates.

I have no reaction.  Go ahead

Say something beyond description.

A white froth stays on my lips.

I am overcome by drugs generated in my glands.

Tears in my upholstery:

I’d like to give you something

Wonderful.  I look for something

And go blind.

When these doors open

I expect love.

No reflection.

No models.

Sores in the heart

That won’t heal.

DREAM BRIDGE

 Egon Schiele

 Tibet

Monbetsu - Hokkaido

DREAM BRIDGE

I am the bridge of dreams.

I am bounded only by waking.

I am beyond the law.

I am part of life and of death.

I am the bones of the stars.

I am the color of the universe.

I am far islands the morning

Before the carnival.  I am

The sparking end of the power cable

Spitting into the night full of rain.

I am the sound of ten thousand

Tree frogs - the rain forest.

I am the coughing of the jaguar.

In the morning steam rises from me.

The dawn streams through my head.

I hold you close and move inside

Your body.  I taste your skin and

It is sweet and salty writing as I enter you

Again and again just as you awaken.

I am gone seconds after your eyes open.

REMEMBERING THE JUNGLE

Albert Bierstadt- A View of Niagara Falls from the American side.

REMEMBERING THE JUNGLE

If we could only

Remember how the

Words worked, the ones

That helped change the seasons

So that no one would notice

Until time itself had piled

Up snow or leaves or

Rain upon rain into the center

Of a month, but we

Could not. Here faces were burned

Off, limbs were regarded

As cord wood, milk spilled

From mouths. We could not

Begin to disguise our disgust

Of the shape dreams made

On the walls of our villages.

Someone said the wands had been

Taken from the area long ago.

Still, we could see lights in the jungle

Night occasionally. They were music.

They were our voices.

We thought they were our homes on fire.