#181 - two poems - what goes on in the poem stays in the poem & winter middling

1.7.20

181

two poems

what goes on in the poem stays in the poem

a little metabusiness

in bright and secret corners

in out my own horror

beam godshaft

through breathcloud

where you become your parents

then there’s the burial alive

[stay mum]

make a lewd suggestion

over course must over think it

without which how would the race go on

species, genus, class and order

?

a poet proposes so much never happens

this is the legislative branch

(known as)

what’s the opposite of harem?

completely surrounded

we call this unwanted advice

a certain amount of aspersion

poem seasoned

withered with draft

(called up but resisted)

in which each word points another and so on

open to orifice fundament instance

not holy for having sat in a church

but here’s the living thing

I met you cloudslung compromised

water – keep moving

bones up – dance

yes could be a story

but you had to have been there

in the poem

take shelter storms of

God’s not listening again

(the everyday prayer is too much)

still poem of heavens and gardens – a gift

it is the gift in words

from under and beyond

country no one could quite steal

went in fear of abstractions there

it is where I was forgotten

everything’s melted

won’t do what it’s told

trap woes

change climates

swap back again

there is secret notation

where I am limber up

have to remember the PIN

it’s the same thing in the picture

a forest and a garden

the setting out to sea

what goes on in the dream stays in the dream

come by sleight of mind to it

inbox out mouth anus

poem as worm farm

it’s only the heart ever gives

please say hello to the folks

what goes on in the poem’s

round around the garden

and

tickle you under there

pinch and a punch again

a winter middling

when the world finished turning

this is the stillness come to

eyes wide

other seasons expire here

middling months

something ancient in winter

I’m woolly mammoth

beany and tusk it

some think a discontented thing

twitch of the witherbirds

catch kindling, flame

collect the sun

so warm to