Thursday, January 10, 2008


You be the thickness of my life
styled black cord
the warm evening of summer wind, coiling
wrapped round and through the air in an outward-looking room
blood hanging out of veins
sitting, suspended along the listening of one album
thick in the air,
thick in thought and expanding into alveolar holes
a thought
a series of thoughts, interwoven with a thickness of feeling
and the shock of the repeated new
with an each of all before returning,
matter formed fresh in the mat of past experience.
You are running out and running through,
expending precious time and precious resource, as a
laboratory experiment that never actually gets the hypothesis,
and a new, or a never new recalling,
till my life,
runs a
rings with this echo, sadly receding,
or pulsing like half-forgotten blood.
I, too
I have the shape
I am timed out
and timing


Oh ashen, greyed light
and oh the light that is not dimmed,
like reflected from some great metal dish interposed
between me
and the sky
siding down across the sky
and scraping down, like metal along against the side of wet bricked walls
come sliding down and risking itself against the rough wall

one hope, and one sky, towards the upheld metal grey dome, I would would this jump up, or be one jump up, first, against the sky, up to the sky
towards the sky, feeling and freeing free the grey uprushing wind or the air brushing against my sides, up past the twitting noisy miner juvenile, and up past
Indian mynah brown and twirling in the air
or would could, probable,
and one bent-kneed deferring ready jump, tendons poised, with those birds
yellow feeted, ready against them,
ready to them, in the image of their bent kneed flight,
yellow footed and spur heeled
taken one giant leap, had been,
and floated if perhapsingly up toward windwardly windingly up into tumbled downd clouds that thick themselves round towards the
towards the
under round and spun.