slot of the abyss The rate of decline a sigh attempt
O sigh attempt
These weapons are your dancing
The arms dance - General Arms stroke width
The buzz in this bang buzz the water
O light in the window
Which means that singing
And then destroy all the Strikers Skin on the wings to sing on the sidelines of each feed legs waging war against the story The skin on wings of song to the coast of all the legs feed the story of the war against story against
history against trend to the Wick the light of the wick
Margin and war, and the skin the skin of the feet in the building for our bodies in the light our body with respect to the extension of emergency so that we only feel the lightning is moving we do not flash the moment in the narrowest of winter as the call to unite
...and possible 28, 29, 30. Was all productive this morning. (When I plan to go the gym, is this my brain's way of thwarting me? This compulsion to actually write poems for the first time in a while...) Let's see what happens tomorrow, eh?
The Marriage of Figaro—Overture
So bounding in the slippage
& the abyss trap door, tripping
makes the rise so so
makes the fall so so
O sigh, O try
this dance yr arms
my arms
swing wide
O joy
& bang this buzz into
O light in the window
is what it means to sing
then crash from each lash
lashing onto wings onto singing each fringe forages our legs waging war against the floors
against the floors
stepping forward
toward this light wick
bounding again, rising, rising
the fringe, the war, the floors lashing the feet the light to our bodies in such urgent sprawl that we feel only the moving feel only the lightning in the darkest winter like starnight inviting unites
Clarinet Concerto—I. Allegro
O sway in and drip
this lilting lilting
so too repeating and
felt into this quick tip
of ink trills that tendrils whispers
sew happiness in the wind & field
this fielding hill so sweep
the day sweep sky sweep
away like happy having
warm
O sing! O love!
how the morning lifts sun
if luck
or storm the world the room with water
flooding out each stinking
weather clement
time in fever—
swells
down into a low note
so slow
for pause
to remember
soft
like fingers in ears
on cheeks
the smear
of passing
and the lift of arms the lift of eyes the upwards momen of each single dripping bit of life that corners into each river swell
I have no energy for Poem 27. How is that in the beginning it was exciting and new and the poems were terrible but they happened and now neither is true.
Try this ride along the highway in turn stasis ate the bank and flow tings the pave I meant to wide sail eat cherries sea, each wary see these breezy yesses. Say yes. Seance. Save us.
The wheels will wile us into heaven. Your will wilts wildly in two havens.
