M a x w e l l G o n t a r e k —

from Polish Molino

+

Teeth bared

The switch

Green as or or

where has the green gone

To a question of bodies

ahead of the modes

outside neutral disaster

returns

An animal is an absence reified

One what if you saw it it’d run away

Just as a tangent touches a circle lightly

“A simulacrum depletes the soil”

sufficing to

this deranged or slow air

the grass swells

with wine

its two joints

in a grip

But with regard to both and to Butterfield

it is a measure of proof

out of the streams

fur

Satie enough

Consider appetite as if it were

What weeds as an explanation

Your corrosive historicizing eye for elegy dyads

Compelled by a violence capable only of families

The mill tore at the villages and pulled them into its orbit

Someone pulled me by my hair from the mane of the meadows

In the houses huddled together like fiddles moss grew on the widows

A single tuft of smoke was sucked out of the bottles of the pantries

Pigs bloomed in the clover and horses sprouted in the dovecote

Cows red and sultry as July prayed to heather in the clouds

Heaps of pecked angelic bodies fell from the red henhouse of heaven

+

Opiated prose of backwater

But with rupture to regard

Dialectics at a standstill

There is more whole in the sum

than

Fig.

detergent lys

Re

June

vate

Like likeness itself

Prefatory hay moon

Is as

’s late

Unveiling rending

Prettier than a mole

+

In the mirror a qua couched in bent on

in incorporation

It burns the same old way

Beef with beef with beef with

The moral event of one untenable “refuse” to another

One “sang” to another

Our capacity for the concentric flickering between inner and outer

as a lithe human homesickness for

the moon burning like a razor

in rotting sparks

+

If we thought

We owned it

+

Conti

the brink recoils

At its own delay loomed

Canyon the sense that

These days my body

Floats within me

The disparity figures a quite early “and”

in a word nue

“this curve it forms in un necessity”

since it corresponds to a meaning

of fading

Lights the sheets

Lightens the amputation of the days

I was hungry when I ate

That bird

That comes at death is death

Things are pressing

And it’s good

Hen

To four ends

I died at each

Of your hiccups

When the shepherd leaned over you

Pounding your stamens to considerable nakedness

To snows

.