Sunday, December 28, 2014

HEART THREAD 119 & 120


I lag behind the utmost grammar
the truck squeals out when it backs up
lost without prepositions if no angels were
the operators do not believe in their machines
a Vatican of leaks inside your cellphone
but you don’t believe me when I call
because calling is its own thing, calling is God
and you always think I have some other motive
I have no motive I am motive I am mind
so make room for me in the caravan
across the Sahel because I am also salt
a word in your mother’s mouth you hear in dream.


Seminivores all over beaks and tiny talons
when you see a bird in flight in truth it’s flying through you
the hollow places in your close-packed chest his fly-zone
so hurried and so gone by,  a clifftop romance
the pale-eyed ghost sits on the inspector’s lap
left alone the little dog howls harrow harrow
moon phase sundial water from the rock
endless embassies of birds at sunset crisis
they go so fast no one knows where no boasting
and if the mind be separate from the brain how wise they are
and we too with our fidgets of the flesh
inferring trajectories that lead beyond the real.