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( Stratham, New Hampshire )
pastoral (in need of fattening up)your tongue studded w/sound sprays my face w/more outbursts about pastures deliberately yellowed & the speech of more lost sheep me I’m settling into new bones after being held under all spring trying out every breath once again w/as near a mechanical panic as I’m able now this meadowlark’s knee-deep in muck & a pregnant cow attempts to get comfortable as I swipe another of your conversions from my face & more mornings are brought to the chopping blockx said it besthis silence is deemed fiendish even factoring in the rain but then I’ve heard of such phases where there isn’t any use for such words where we’re led out our parent’s palms like ghosts pinched between fingers blaming the wind for the buttons gone the tongued blues of our absences so more doors & then so what was once a near-epic’s now paperclipped far above us that paraclete coveralled in futility groomed into our likenesses a world lived & why not nothing ever more smug than its darkness where more memories ask of the snapshots how is it our lives never crossed here before?imp lorebeaver skirting the road more sunshine on a stick all of this disgorged for me * pins left in a shirt bird raking its message on sky why this can never be human * rain steadies mountain gagged black-backed gulls she shimmies up the rays * clouds held up w/hooks hot air from the dryer vent the day goes down on me * we wiretap Eden something dusty sucks a teat the softest maniacal snore * bleached chimera waiting on a chair for my cue near-speech & a scrimshawed backpay heaven (no mind)o divine grind of teeth & blessed asterisk! Jesus pays no mind to most my sins o the mischief I got in once someone had mistaken my brace for a playing piece that bird out back’s been trying to put me in a trance again & if the sun sits just right & the window’s all light maybe Jesus does slip later into slots where the stars had been w/my tongue half-convincing me to lie to Him again re: the unintelligible dance of which my name’s become recently tied now this second bat’s coming for its shadow here & elsewhere where there’s always some sign on the road that I’ve already sampled in another poem some where a different mistakematteringo blessed paraclete my most touching of nuisances you alone try convincing me of that fact I’d once beenentertaining one’s inquisitive selfjust like these racks full of blank books my thoughts have been marked down again & given their very own mascot who will wait for the pen’s intercession or its stomach to finally kick in again more factories force feeding the heavens & breath dismissed by this blasphemous cold when once I would liken my best lines to my tongue being yanked into action now I’m clearing my throat most discreetly any messes swiped up by the always good linen
I - The Curve of Smiles
II - To Sleep Inside a Scream
III - Minarets, Incense, Beggars
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Current Issue - Winter 2008
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