one must be careful in this landscape to shed cells
when artificial hills congeal, to leave
dust suspended by means of unmeasured wildness,
to let knowledge go. the hard edges of a township
metaphorically take over a people,
a dress rehearsal for a more muscular vista
which is to say blank. in record time,
shrines attach to new icons. now here is the cut-out lake,
all comical in pink buoys. a prancing cut-out horse
shows me the syntax. it starts with seduction—
birdness tussle. urgent spectrums await
harbored instants, mammal-like, unblinking
in the light of day. makes “me” feel “fake”
thinking before i feel. i “let” the trees grow.
but bricks change colors or the whole wall,
slightly or radically iridescent. in the state of quash,
first a mountain is confabulated. i seep
into the forgiving weather, carrying a dazed animal
from the book of scraps, demonstrate suitable myopia,
tarry in the watershed, a welling of absence at the synapse
of permeability & sting. what’s mine
belongs to eerie bridges. the extent of perception
one would be hardpressed to say, running away
emptily, outstretched hands singing impossibly
to particles, blindness stitching together stories.
what winter is supposed to be, marble & smiling.
from “ letter letters” |
