Excerpt
Not So Much I evaded capture todaywith only a handful of dustto escape that Old Sandman Death.Certainly, those maroon berries,so large & luscious,crowded on their fat stemshad something to do with itas did the ground fogleaving its burrow as so many boll-weevilstheir crowded nests.And there might be something to the factthe moonlight satfat & confidant in the night skyas surelyas my head rests on this pillowand the poem invites itselfinto my lair of thoughts,much as nestlings charge theentrance to the runwayof a tree.I walked flat outin an instanceas standing urineheld its own stenchand the grim splash within the ponddead center in the wildernessunderscores the tone of this warning.One thought encapsulates wonderthough suggestive evil hidesleaden leaves buried in lake muddown the corner eaves of someone'sfire hydrant mind.When you pray for someonean Angel sits on their shoulder,when that same someone hates youdoes that Angel die of grief?Serendipity is a flowerand those cloudsre-arranging the breezeharbingers of forbidden thingsnot so much like these bouldersuse hand-held scissors to open twilightand watch this fading light ebb forthtip-I-toe like a birdsqueezed thru an openingin its cage.
Serpentine More fragment of treethan serpentclothed in wethe mirrors mebedraggled in stonecloak or so it seemsthis cavernous ledge coven.Is he witch's totemswimming at yard's lengthI can web reach himstartling darts of raincutting lagoon's edgethis sedge & eel grass dragon.
Lithuanian Dolls/Consulate Front These eyes of dolls seem leaden stonesnot canisters of the Faithbut cannon-balls engravedin tome-like stares so muchwaxen shapes, these dust cloths& spidery webs.Dolls with eyes starelidless & forlornsuch eyes are cracksminden shapes or basement eveshogans of the human form.I'm interested in the priapicsilence of such dolls—theirindolent aura in timeone long amber twilight& the results are inthe shadows have produced twins...hazy silhouettes rough-housingin the dark, come passing headlightsalthough the stampede of noisesaffects nought.Ticker-tape & collagein quick thick barragethese lonesome dollsslouching half-pinnedin their stalls—a cat transcends crouching his spinethen pelvic thrusts and tableaux change.People are divisive, dolls less so.the dolls know nothing of that.
Begin And Beguile If brains be gables & minds, say, the shuttersin a derelict New England Mansionthen intuition is in theeaves & casementsthe well-springs seeping into turrets & cupolasof all other nether spaces.These big, wide entrances are ourselves in all their splendor,notwithstanding the Winchester Mansionsor Vanderbilt Estates where ourvery personalities are laid baresee antics give rise to atticsfeed in onto themselveswhere the Astor's of our alter-egosare resplendent in rich pride of selflonging to manifest in lavish architectureso redolent of wealthyet see-sawing in, squabblingtheir thread-bare servant quarterswhere murderous passionsbare dingy walls and where stained,yellowing wallpaper is harbinger tofurther heart-felt quarrels &what is unspeakable, gilded and more....