You mistook it for a Roman hack but it was Dublin, too,
On the street at the shop of ten sylla—
What were they thinking ...
To put teeth and soft flesh so close.
¿Qué estaban pensando ...
Para poner los dientes y la carne suave tan cerca.
An astonishing translation comes in:
Ordinary is enough. Sight of land is enough.
Water won't rest on this hill. Comes out words.
Can't do it all for you. Do some for your self.
If I had to show
Woolen dancers stepping calmly into
Telephones propellers cucumbers carpenters cameras,
I would slow them down-
The wave said it had an opening.
Said it approached the flower with an ax
said Here in the sky so much to do today.
We expect you'd have taken some time
To consider what you've done. With an ax.
A wave said its informalities are dated.
Said we've been given a work to go away.
Which happened once we worked our words
through the opening.
Fights around transubstantiation go verbal.
Those verbs. Sit watching. Abused. Insulated.
Atheism. Understandable and beside the point.
Fine in the automatic vista. And yet I'm
In love. The seconds become all one word.
The decade broken out of the trap. Her leg.
Watching out. Becoming so full of death took
Hours. You see. Hours.
For these pieces we set the fires. In lines
Across the field we set the dancing.
This may be the last audio for awhile. GCast seems to be shutting down. Do you know of any other service like this?
That my post appeared in your blog's referral list when there's no common link.
It's a puzzle.
If you had eyes you could stand to see me rocking now.
A hundred waves. Then I thought I'd hate reading.
"Left behind by the sort of people who shouldn't have pets.
I watched for about twenty minutes.
Preferring to stay home breathing with my leftovers.
Why oxygen under pressure … will run its course at least"
If you sit the sun you'll sleep for sure.
There's the talking about that comes with an alias.
Known as the slightly tilted upward. The lease. The lookout.
There's the talking through that goes unbent toward sundown.
A lariat for a lynching then a leash for some wildcat.
You talk so funny when you make these things. You
remind me of an operation on my wrist. Who said
"Ekphrastic poetry is the new Met." Then sat.
His chilly sun artfully mounts our lips and tongues
Blow the sun
to gadgets. Why.
Then a landscape.
Burnt upside brown.
Just. Find verbs.
Go prettify. As
genius has to
guess. I'm now
telling you to.
A list of
new cleansing agents
bold as sunlight
organizes our sleep.
So tells us
that breeds these
death cults everywhere.
And now. Here.
My formal evaluation, an easel stuck to my retina.
Complicated I say. As "myriads" as "a plenitude"
Or "nutrition." The land washed out to light cream.
You still need for it to be on paper. Somewhere. As.
This has been your hand and will be a while longer.
Tracerie. Une tracerie est une décoration
en forme de toile autour de fenêtres dans
Why. You must look at it not just through it.
Why. There's your keys in plain sight.
Why. I can't help it they named me Adam.
Why. You'll notice what everyone notices.
Yesterday I got tips and puddles.
Yesterday I slipped across the cement.
Yesterday I listed and waned. Wavered and crested.
Yesterday I fled from a porch of tasteless scenery
Into your arms. Into your arms. Into your arms.
O God there's no lack of God you say
I have lines and points and planes.
I have lines and planes. Points.
This wind does the same as the shore.
This wind does the same in the sun.
I can't help it they named me Adam.