12.ii.21
413
2.43
the dolls,
the boxes, whisper
a
prepositional
we are selves in the far
pure as any
subject to the clock’s cries
wielded
but free ourselves
in treetop song
between the world and where
trip the light
a whistle up
having to have been dreamt first
I hear my feet telling the path
I’ll be puppy
call me on, canter
who will to this tune
and skew
whistle the keys
one tries to get inside the page
turn one further opening
between in a thickness
further from day
a spread like the leaf sprung
petal fall, glimmer
make a maze of rain and wind tricks
music one note past the chord
far selves in a clock’s call
as we have said and so
open a door comes off in your hand
jazz in the pants, you
talk yourself over the border
a little heart to trick the time
pump doom in the tolling
print-through
lick tip
come kiss
the atavist requires
here’s the island in the journey
voyage call it
in the poem
in the story
a rattle in the road
and cabinet of flight
of sorrows
someone’s Ozymandias
in the book
in the conversation
sly knowing
for a contradiction
in a wink
the wicked way
(most of these words
will have to go)
whistle the keys
up dots and swallow
follow along with a
bounce
chase vine
here by tricks
and think it
by magic
tilt the maze and go
again inside
the boxes, dolls, the whisper
under the pants
more skin
here by the that of our teeth
native wit
by virtue of and what shall we call it?
means of a compromise
by the way
lose track
forgotten how we’ve come
no one can make a boat now
we are kept from beaches
have the sky still
to fashion wings
but hoof in mouth undone
where the ink runs out
this scratch
mad insect scramble
take windows for flight
gum so far in flowering
come into the lull
lose sight of self in words on the wall
most of it not quite written yet
all on the way
fall as the half way arrow
beginnings always lost
all along it was the other side you were working
an ear to the world gone by
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