van der Waals :: Amor rara

                                      Antler tines or cloudforms
                                      Not just rare but rare
                                                     and desired
                                                     and extractable toothwise

                                      The singular
                                      Spiderweb the brief beewing-
                                      Vein leafprint filigree

                                                                  Last
                                                                  year’s
                                                                  thready
                                                                  anti-air
                                                                  discard

                                                          ars                       longa
                                                                  vita brevis

       Aspen shimmer aspen song

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspissational :: written fairly AT George Oppen

    ask Catullus and SunRa


       Vetiver laundered
       At the river banks
              (The national banks
              Of the Mississippi)

       Ecogrief one might say
                        over the greenbacks dancing
                                                           pavanes and galliards
                                      Toozenthreez(more dollars
                                                                ((than trees this country
                                                                (((by a sight
                                                                ((((with zeros added
                                                                (((((rolling
       Like watermelons down a flooded culvert
              useless [the vehicle is war George
                                                                              as always]))))) they proclaim victory
                                                                                                          no matter the distance cut
                                                                                                 between shorelines

                                                                                     all the armies of Europe and Asia
                                                                                     for want of a drink from the O-hi-o
                                    Sayeth the nation,                    [[              I don’t
                                                remember when I was born.
                                               I’ve never memorized it.
                                                                                           ]]

Blood dries brown all eons I guess
Caps and washes clean somehow
Just some in the snowmelt’s all

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coyote’s void ameuses-bouche

             for Saya Zeleznik

        Look at the flux moon.
        Look at the sun on it, swinging
        back round, full-calibre—white
        discs on dots—crown-shy
        night sky the drift windage between moon’s cannonbore and moonlit glade.

        The parabola of the departed:
        swallows and swallowtail-
        arrowheads, too, seek—as water
        and root, as math proof,
        as brachiating lightning, cast silica-glass rhizome cooling under the strike—

                        a ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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