Sunday, October 25, 2009

For yourself

Geology is not her specialty. You can see that for yourself!


A man is a mutant: beans, straw, hay, broom, thistle, longing weeds lingering at the beach_head, and her in this sun. Here in that sun, and tomato feet, rhapsodies with long wool socks, and tomato skins that go to her eyes. Now what are eyes that see? Things which work in tandem with the cortex and the core text of this gal is balmy blame and her blame for everything. Call it unoriginal if you like, but it's sin to speed or nothing is nothing.

Between the edge the caliper of two fingers
loam
and off the clothes pegs
avenues riddled with bullet holes. Uproot your city o dyers, and melters of the human thing.
A machine's a machine and man made. A dog tag's a tracking device, for verve versus verse. Them that don't understand the English language don' t get that.


So Jill the city wore down the angel, grabbing her husky buttocks bearing her, tearing her down limb from limb till the self-made image of Man was unmade.


O Unmaiden of the Lord
let it be said according to they words as bunched like a pile of crumpled grapes
they string the beat bean poles

---------------- Thus Mona along the river bank.
Of a Sunday afternoon inTurin.

And the grand gallery above,
the homeless fox below
the chairs of the wedding set
the perpendicular gowns arrayed and
the dawn feast for none and all, if you could say
such a cyclic cultivated thing.....

So she tucked in way past the things. That matter and count recounting all and sundry and love. Love's little beat and tractor.

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