poem index

poet

Michael McClure

by this poet

poem

WE HAVE GONE
GONE. GONE
in the hole where
soul swells
into
nothing
leaving solid space
where profiles
of gods and fairies
are carved
and
finely
polished
by the clanking of trucks,
thunder-shaking
waves,
and the taste of

poem

I wanted to turn to electricity—I needed
a catalyst to turn to pure fire.
We lied
to each other. Promises

are lies. Work is death. Contracts are
filth—the act of keeping them
destroys the desire to hold them.

I forgive you. Free me!

poem

Linked part to part, toe to knee, eye to thumb
Motile, feral, a blockhouse of sweat
The smell of the hunt's
A stench,...my foetor.
The eye a bridegroom of torture
Colors are linked by spirit
Euglena, giraffe, frog
Creatures of grace—Rishi
Of their own right.