It is Isis the mystery
Must be in love with me.
Here this round ball of earth
Where all the mountains sit
Solemn in groups,
And the bright rivers flit
Round them for girth.
Here the trees and troops
Darken the shining grass,
And many people pass
Plundered from heaven,
Many bright people pass,
Plunder from heaven.
What of the mistresses
What the beloved seven?
--They were but witnesses,
I was just driven.
Don't worry if your job is small,
And your rewards are few.
Remember that the mighty oak,
Was once a nut like you.
Conchita debemos to speak totalmente in English
cuando we go into Sears okayPor qué
Porque didn’ t you hear lo que pasóIt say
on the eleven o’ clock news anoche que two robbers
was caught in Sears and now this is the part
I’ m not completely segura que I got everything
porque channel 2 tiene tú sabes that big fat guy
that’ s hard to understand porque his nose sit on his lip
like a elefante pues the point es que the robbers the police say
it’ s iron, the bottle
crouched on its white pedestal,
long beak spout and wide open handle
you could see starry sky through.
Everybody was doing that new stitch,
it had spread far west, oh yes,
said Mrs. ______ at Knit & Purl,
but how many hats can one person wear?
I’ d like to be more useful — say
apprentice to a bung fitter, or make
chipped ice, to hit something (not live)
on the head, directly,
uuuuuuuuuu
uuuuuuuuuu
uuuuuuuuuu uuu ray light morning fire lynch yet
uuuuuuu, yester-pain in dreams
comes again. race-pain, people our people
our people
everywhere... yeh... uuuuu, yeh
uuuuu. yeh
our people
yes people
every people
most people
uuuuuu, yeh uuuuu, most people
in pain
yester-pain, and pain today
(Screams) ooowow! ooowow! It must be
the devil
(jumps up like a claw stuck him) oooo
wow! oooowow! (screams)
Whatever city or country road
you two are on
there are nettles,
and the dark invisible
elements cling to your skin
though you do not cry
and you do not scratch
your arms at forty-five degree angles
as the landing point of a swan
in the Ohio, the Detroit River;
Down at the station, early in the morning,
See the little puffer trains, all in a row.
Here comes the driver to start up the engine,
Puff! Puff! Peep! Peep! Off we go!
Puff! Puff! Peep! Peep! Off we go!
Puff! Puff! Peep! Peep! Off we go!
Down at the station, early in the morning,
See the little puffer trains, all in a row.
Here comes the driver to start up the engine,
Chuff! Chuff! Toot! Toot! Off we go!
Chuff! Chuff! Toot! Toot! Off we go!
Chuff! Chuff! Toot! Toot! Off we go!
As down the burn they took their way,
And thro' the flowery dale;
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
And love was aye the tale:
With "Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew?"
Quoth Mary-"Love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you."
The message I found on the Post-it note
went thus: love truth; expect to be found out.
Kid-style capitals proved I wrote it, but
left no clue why I'd swelled into a fat
clause no editor could edit; then, an entry
on a shrink's list of patient slang for sex —
her desk Norwegian teak, the mug of tea
on which she had affixed her Post-it notes
hot against her knuckle, their lips of stickum
loosening... And yet, I knew the note
to peel away at hour's end would terminate
our sessions — cool as the draft her linen
They are skimming the lake with wooden hooks.
Where the oak throws its handful of shadows
Children are gathering fireflies.
I wait in the deep olive flux
As their cries ricochet out of the dark.
Lights spear the water. I hear the oak speak.
It foists its mouthful of sibilants
On a sky involved with a stillborn moon,
On the stock-still cottages. I lean
Into the dark. On tiny splints,
One trellised rose is folding back
Its shawls. The beacon strikes the lake.
