Tyrannos
"It is
noteworthy that what goes on
in thinking never interests us."
And it is interesting that without breathing
we could not think on breath.
But all day long we think and breathe
in spaces that we decorate against the void
and thoughtlessness.
Ants
crowding a jelly smear.
Against whose fidelity to what they are
even Helen when compared
is mere shadow to the sun.
And besides
I am aware that it is I who am
writing this and that my pure love of thought
is in some ways a defense, a "fortress of
solitude", a structured essence
Whose
blue shoes were covered when he took
off his pants, to follow the serenade into the
sun's labyrinths and the mannequins frozen
into fists of regret
the pale cowgirl smoking a cigarette as
"the one"
Beneath
The Sun
Beneath
the sun
runs Actaeon.
And flowers that grip
the indecent soil.
"Their downsizing complete,
the company restructured."
And the sun fell down the flagpole
in rivulets
of its somewhat anal
and perfected glare.
In the halls of beauty runs Actaeon
and the hounds that will make of him
a bride of air.
The halls of their hunger
are emblazoned with desires:
while dolphins of light
picnic in the solar flares.
To his left is a door.
To his right a mirror.
" And that is how it is
both now and later."
In the halls of beauty
runs Actaeon
who has seen the void
that does not care
Apocalypse
on the Head of a Pin
Time is an anchor
where the blessed may not sleep
and shadows fall abhorrently
across fugues of asphodel
becoming the impertinences of America
that aggravate the dull
"So think of putting your hand up in school.
Nothing need have gone on inside you."
No face on pale flower
or sneeze of desire whose weapons shine
"pulled down from clouds as from a promise
of grace"
While planners cull facts
from the ruins we will become
Love
Song
Know
that I would flourish and be your
customer
that
I would ache and sing and my body
untie
when
you would offer me a sample and whisper
customer
and you
would sing against hope and bend
untoward
and I
would walk through the aisles and finger
cellophane
and I
would kiss from the microphone the
product safety warnings
and you
would say "customer come back to me I have lost my will
to die"
speaking
softly and murmuring in the foundation aisle
and I
will kiss you customer I will live your green
sighs
I will
help you to sing I will help you to
arrive
and we
will be each other's customers
and it will be impossible, ever, to marry down
and all
that will be dutiful and sparkling and arranged
will
be wrapped in brown paper and curbed on Thursdays
and we
will live the great hotel with televised
style
and I
will whisper to you "love" and lick your customer
and you
will caress me and sigh and tremble as
your customer
and the
earth will shake and the birds will writhe
and the air will taxi and the assumption smile
and we
will spill into the earth a tide of customers
who will love and be loved there
and serve
and be served
until
we are finally taken down into the well-sold earth
unashamed and bright, bountiful and with certainty
and there
we will serve lastly what has loved us well
and dream
the last dream in our hermetic sleeps
customers of this earth that credits all things
