Admin

What was she doing when it blew in Over the seven hills, the red furrow, the blue mountain? Was she arranging cups? It is important. Was she at the window, listening? In that valley the train shrieks echo like souls…

What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful? It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges? I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want. When I am quiet at…

You will be aware of an absence, presently, Growing beside you, like a tree, A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree —- Balding, gelded by lightning—an illusion, And a sky like a pig’s backside, an utter lack of…

I made a fire; being tired Of the white fists of old Letters and their death rattle When I came too close to the wastebasket What did they know that I didn’t? Grain by grain, they unrolled Sands where a…

Little poppies, little hell flames, Do you do no harm? You flicker.  I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing burns And it exhausts me to watch you Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like…

O mud, mud, how fluid! —- Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse. Speak, speak! Who is it? It is the bowel-pulse, lover of digestibles. It is he who has achieved these syllables. What are these words, these…

You come in late, wiping your lips. What did I leave untouched on the doorstep— White Nike, Streaming between my walls? Smilingly, blue lightning Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts. The police love you, you confess everything.…

(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun’s poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped from the freeze By pale girls, travel the air in scorched hands. Why is it so quiet, what are they…

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself- Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also. They are my medium. The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights. A grey…

How the elements solidify! —- The moonlight, that chalk cliff In whose rift we lie Back to back. I hear an owl cry From its cold indigo. Intolerable vowels enter my heart. The child in the white crib revolves and…