Saturday, February 26, 2011

Find me a word

Find me a word
To start the sound
Of all placed before me;

An incantation to bind,
My words,
My breath,
My intent.

Give me an image
To still the storms of
Wandering eyes,
Something to keep me rapt.

Ideas pile up, become obdurate,
Half formed like a lame mule.
I have progeny of halfwits and retards.

Everything is a mirroring projection,
A continuum migrating through action
(Half-formed life, six years dead and calcified).

Even inaction acts.
Dumb, the mounded work falls,
The pot boils itself out.

"Gotta' pinch the sore jus' to heal."

A chorus gathers volumes at the edges of thought:
Radiators ticking, expanding metal,
Snow plows scrapping temporary clearings,
And the freight train is like dumb oboes on different pages.

The road dusts over,
Congealing where the coarse salt thins;
Banality overtakes the novelty of now.

"Lettin' it all pile up - just as ti'rin' as havin' to always clean up."

"Do you really take the time to try? 'Cause if you do, then I don't know where you're taking it, but 'It ain't helpin'."

"I mean: goddamn it; get out of yourself! Here put this on... "

The house is gathering heaped up energies:
Loose threads,
Laid along paths of dwelling.

Isles piled high:
Deposits of a stratified,
Stubborn life,
Living in piles.

Disorder is always easier... at first.

(Fall: 2011?)

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