I leave you in your garden.
In the yard
Behind it, run the Airedales you have reared
With boxer’ s vigilance and poet’ s rigour:
Dog-generations you have trained the vigour
That few can breed to train and fewer still
Control with the deliberate human will.
And in the house there rest, piled shelf on shelf,
Half-eagle, half-lion, the fabulous
animal struts, saber-clawed but saintly,
a candlewicked ornament dangling
from our rickety sugar pine. Butternut
pudding in our bellies. His reindeer
and sleigh hurried here and gone — thank God
for us childless folks. Almost: the lovelocked
Griffins on the sofa, sockfooted, hearing
From this height
the sunset spans the whole world
before me: houses and trees are shadows
neon flares between them like sudden fire
the freeways run, always
strangely vacant with riderless cars
empty air
the windows up here
refract the blue slate and rose light
making the hills on the horizon collide
with ideas of Sussex, piedmont
or the cold clear wind of the Abruzzi
but that is never what is out there.
Because I must walk
through the eye-shaped
shadows cast by these
curved gold leaves thick
atop each constructed
palm tree, past displays
of silk scarves, lit
silhouettes of blue-bottled
perfume — because
I grip, as though for the first
time, a paper bag
of french fries from McDonald's,
and lick, from each fingertip,
This is what he dreams of:
a map of burned land,
a mound of dirt
in the early century’ s winter.
A map of burned land?
A country is razed
in the early century’ s winter.
And God descends.
A country is raised
because of industry.
And God descends,
messengers rush inside
because of industry,
in spite of diplomats.
Messengers rush inside
to haunt the darkened aisles.
In spite of diplomats,
the witnesses know well
to haunt the darkened aisles,
experimentally —
I
— how we’ re carpet-making
by the river
a long dream to unroll
and somehow time to pole
a boat
I designed a carpet today —
dogtooth violets
and spoke to a full hall
now that the gall
of our society’ s
corruption stains throughout
Dear Janey I am tossed
by many things
If the change would bring
better art
but if it would not?
O to be home to sail the flood
I’ m possessed
and do possess
Employer
Nothing worth noting
except an Andromeda
with quadrangular shoots —
the boots
of the people
wet inside: they must swim
to church thru the floods
or be taxed — the blossoms
from the bosoms
of the leaves
*
Fog-thick morning —
I see only
where I now walk. I carry
my clarity
with me.
*
Hear
where her snow-grave is
the You
ah you
of mourning doves
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Susie Asado which is a told tray sure.
A lean on the shoe this means slips slips hers.
When the ancient light grey is clean it is yellow, it is a silver seller.
This is a please this is a please there are the saids to jelly. These are the wets these say the sets to leave a crown to Incy.
Incy is short for incubus.
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death’ s laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death’ s supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.
It resembles a bird’ s foot
Worn around the cannibal’ s neck.
As you hold it in your hand,
As you stab with it into a piece of meat,
It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:
Its head which like your fist
Is large, bald, beakless, and blind.
