Wednesday, December 30, 2015

white turnip heads
in the floodwater—
the dead of winter


Monday, December 28, 2015

slanting fields
pour through wet drystone—
new waterfalls

the river rises—
nearly to our doors
we breathe


Wednesday, December 16, 2015

three and a half seconds of pure light (a poem for the Time Being)
unlike the whip-pan, which is used to rip the viewer
into a tangential reality, the dead-pan uses a melting rack-focus
to engage the death-posture of the character onscreen
—Madeleine Shine

1. (he sees himself laying onward
in the rain stone 

after stone
into the mist towards a horizon
which will not be known

this the Zen-pan or stone-pan)

2. the boy the silhouette only of the boy
the long-dead seen from behind
hobbles along the alleyway
leaving his merest forensics barely

stroked into silver emulsion

3. another who reaches the vanishing point
who leaves nothing

—undiscoverable archaeology
of light
a creature of soft parts only
who dances but will not keep
who leaves no fossil for the reliquary

4. where at the table the hands work in shards

—of flint, itself fossil, compression,
the metamorphic dead—

knappings, rebuild in three dimensions
the stone jigsaws—each when finished
yet incomplete—brooding an inner hollow

where something was once eased forth

now only a void, a lost core felt
as disturbance
of the night air but nothing

when we stir
only nothing

lost there
in all our rolling fingers of dream



Tuesday, December 15, 2015

le dormeur du val: an inflected cyborg translation of Rimbaud for Remembrance Sunday 2008

it is a hole of greenery where a river sings
hanging madly to grasses
................................tatters of money
......................where sun of the proud mountain shone
it is a small valley which foams of rays a young soldier
stops open, naked head, and the nape
bathes in cool blue cresses
....................sleep it is wide in grass, under the naked one
pale in its green bed where the light rains the feet the gladeoli, it sleeps smiling
as would smile a sick child, it makes a nap Nature it warmly: it is cold
the perfumes do not make any more shiver
..........................its nostril; It sleeps in the sun
.......................the hand on its tranquille chest

two red holes on the right

(Translated by Steve Parker 2008)


Saturday, December 12, 2015

'The' Tao that loves is or is not ...

 loving  causes  ability  brave


Wednesday, December 09, 2015

found language poem with


(th ey tht lks
out frm yr ope



diminishing returns

a lifetime's supply
of cigarettes