Ferrum [excerpt]

s no s                        laves s                          in nest/s with
                in come sir                                  my lie
                                                ge lord it i
                                 s now y/                                 our turn co
                me b                        e me rains fa
                            ll no wa                            ter in t me and p
lay your p
                                          art the sun ros                                  he t
                ub                                                                under sk
                            in sin for                          ty days fo
     rty nigh                          ts forty ce                             dis for forty
                sins j'aim                            faim j'ai
                                faim god of                            spire spes and p
          raise turn and                          turn the bo                               nes sing
                               a son                                  g of wa
                                         ter a wat                                er so
                     ng sin                         g song sin                          g song de
                               fend the d                           ead & sin n
         o sin sin                           g the bo                               nes h/o
                        me what w                         ill my b                               ones say h
                                         ow do the                        y forty we
               eks come to t                        erm shh au                                  di can you
                                       not he                           ar from the de
                                                  ep the voi
                        ces not sir                                                ens we are a
      t sea the d                                            art of my sto
                                         ry stings i me
                      ant no harm                                         no hurt res







                                          cue us rag                                        and bone men in
               dict the a                                           ge pears in g
                              in in                    wine win                                ter wine and y
                                      ou Ruth                              this story ne
                   sts in the ne               t the we                                    b of ti
                                       me tam                p it down do
                                                  use the flam                 e of this ta
               le what pro                                      fit me if mon               coeur non est
                                 we wind o                                       ur way sub
                                                                    water o
                                       nly the bone                                       s of the sh
                     ip their e                          yes dart this
                                   way and th                                                              at soft so
                                                                                   ft they ro
                         am the ship                                                            their cri
                                                            es grate on me
                                          y ears drag                                the dee
                                                            p for the b                            ones of my so
                              ul their sou                                  ls cast the n
                                                    et wide to the d                             eep men to the
                     p and a                                             tot of ru
                                           m...

Related Poems

Irritable Mystic

"mu" fifth part —

  His they their
we, their he
 his was but if
need be one,
                    self-
  extinguishing
I, neither sham nor
 excuse yet an
alibi, exited, 
                  out, 
                         else
the only where
 he'd be. 

              Before
the long since
  remaindered
 body, imagines
each crack, each
    crevice as it sweats
   under cloth,
                    numbed
  inarticulate
                   tongues touching
     down on love's endlessly
 warmed-over thigh. 
                             The awaited one
    she mistook him for haunts
       him, tells him in
     dreams he told 
                            him so.
       Such offense,
   but at what
      won't say, 
                     moot 
   remonstrance, 
                       no resolve if not
      not to be caught 
                             out. . .

     Abstract advance, its
    advantage unproved,
       unbelieved-in,
                            vain
     what wish would
 give. . . 
             Late eighties 
                                night
momentarily bleached by
         bomblight. Awoke,
     maybe inwardly wanted
                                       it, 
       wrestling with dreams 
                                      of the
 awaited one again. 
                            Thought
back but a moment later
        what moodier start
     to have gotten off
                                to,
       angered by that but
 begrudged it its impact
                                and
     so sits remembering,
         pretending, shrugs it
off. . . 

             Arced harp. Dark
     bent-over body. Esoteric
         sun whose boat its
                                     back
 upheld. . . 
                 Unseizably
vast underbelly of
                           light,
       limb-letting thrust. 
                                  Tread of
     hoofs. Weighted udders of
 dust. . . 
               His it their she
once they awake, 
                                 the 
       arisen one, 
                        world
           at her feet, 
                                 her feet 
       one with their 
                           rapture,
   ankledeep in damage
                                   though she 
           dances. . . 
 The slippings off
                         of her
 of their hands define
her hips, whose are
       the suns whose
                              heat
           his nights taste 
                                  of 
     and as at last he
       lies her legs loom, 
                                   naked,
 loose gown pulled from
           her, sleep 
                           turns.
And he with his 
                         postures
           cramps the air, 
                                 bent 
       lotuslike, lips
                           part kiss, 
                                           part 
         pout