Draw up a profit from between
the stemming stalks –
The ceiling of window panes
jams and droops.
Each claustrophobic genus
has its reunion cabin, and the collectors,
cabinets cough through chimneys.
But there are botanists with farms
and farmers with tractor-top
terrariums, pressure cooker
of county and neighboring county.
The rarest labors foam
and sputter heady at the top
and the menial has that
old valley lava, hidden well
That whale intellect,
Melvillean head –
weighty yank of tides –
Who doesn't know the humid moment
of a well wrought plan?
Before, desiccated, it is scratched
through to flow chart?
(Let it flow with India Ink)
The world's (floating and) floppiest diadem
was meant to temper brilliance
but called up usurpers with easy dissipation.
grasps the higher frequencies
of that heavy panting,
heaps of breath.
Accidental buoys –
some tough packed with sand
and some standing beach absence,
vapor in cloudy empties --
Once. But a cache-pocket of sky today
props the creve-caving shore of tomorrow.
Maybe landfills are a solution.
Swansong, gullsong: castle-glass bricks
the battlements rising for
the last land-civ.
Nothing to do with stuffing,
save a redaction of all the elements.
She stretched the whole grove's trees
to build a single tent –
"better the breeze implode it
than waste the pollens elsewhere,"
the stunted trees were saying
"abcission is just as much a cut as…"
Upend all sitting rainwater
and allow for inflation –
Nerves grow behind glass globes
and, a tap, an implant of jade claws.
WAYS TO PRESERVE
Nordics and busybodies
have sweated over cauldrons
boiling with glass jars --
Part for the sake of sterility!
Who wonders what insects
hatch and feast and hatch
among sun dried delicacies?
The preservationists, the lily-gilders
invented a confitified abundance,
but also, the final maquillage
(that art of arranging
cut flowers in cut glass)
and the marble table massage.
In the mangrove forests,
where no person lives,
coastlines creep outwards.
All the rest live on the edge
or pitch tent cliff side.
The curling stomach
of the doe knows dryness in
the birch forest and the town,
all rank with bitter weatherproof.
All hills and horizons shoulder
the great wooden words NOT HERE.
Far frontiers still do the spacedive
that the urbane have refigured in
feet of plateglass panorama.
All waves breaks, tiny time-shares,
over un-pact layers of collapsing crust.
DON THE BLINDERS
Decimals delve too deep
wrecks of geologists, eyeing
the fractals of the gem chest.
The sailor can trade scurvey
for potatoskins, limes,
and that belief that drowning's not
the seaman's problem.
The sailor's shorecity brother
suffers acute penetralia
in the curtainless life
of each neighbor who putters.
The telescope, scanning whatever bits
of horizon turn a good solution:
Mine your business, men,
for those sparkling
constipations of carbon.
Or Dickens police escort,
meet the pirates of peso cove
and the irish of dollar alley.
Five points is universal,
that the idea rounded out in intersection, steerer,
pentogram and moral editorial.
Gravity is for pulling a compass
oxen – you can see and tell them –
are for pulling an honest plough.
Read on the mobsters of chips casino,
sit your chair in fours
around the dinning room table.
CAPRI JET TRAVEL
Capri jet travel exercises
the unfamiliar in baking sands
and live echoes.
Should've been a hard sell,
when almost each beach
has all the necessary debris.
There would be no shore
without a rift, a grand collapse
and a deep, teary chasm.
Still, there is room for the choking gull
and a freshwater bath on all continents
and room always to rub elbows
with the person passing nearest.
KHEPRI JET STUDIOS
The credits get a mythical push
in the final moments
of the flickering screen.
The movie palace, the lights rise and on
and over the flocked and civil cushions
while graphs & grams & glyphs
are awash in the intricately established.
A scarab's scitter marks
were the famed words & names
foiled only in gold, overcrusting stones,
that focal point, canopic point.
"That's the bull in our tearoom"
said the corsage to his union man -
"A near threat –
The china all a twitter."
When the tea falls in the harbor
and at tide all the finery
in a breakdown, the gold pound for pat
and the flatware its most malleable
to lay a fine leaf on the coast's coniferous.
Stained water creeps inland
with a silken dust
to line the billfolds and ferryboats.
A RELENTLESS ROUTINE
Geometry in palms out radiates
the tiling of pines.
Neither make blush perennials,
whose equinox surges ever astound;
still, greens do plenty subtle battles.
If botanists statested
respective fossil frequencies,
that plants that never surrender full
or much matter…
the more durable oil might ripen
settlement for the worthiest meridian.
Whatever the ever-lush lawn,
it survives night-bloomers with a deposit
that sound relieve the earth
a population worth of retirement.
DEAD HORSE BAY
scales and all,
foots a tureen -- absent
it casts no shadow on the oily sand.
The finest dish presented:
punch, punch and vichyssoise,
all the sorts of things that
ruins endure before dignity.
Rotten precedes skeleton,
scab before scar,
salmonella cesspool cooked elegant.
while the dainties and drawers
are woven by worms,
whiling women, victorians,
chain stitch and web gardens,
stay seams with hair strands.
the lace of cuticle,
like rising mirror-foil
is pressed behind a lens,
linked around her neck
chained around magpie's busy,
MAIMED AND SPECIALIZED
An alternative to taking to bed
is to slide, at the remnants shop,
into the folds of a shelved skein.
(Cleopatra was so purposeful
from within her carpet)
Should one not roll flat,
call it a problem of breeding –
delicate ankles wouldn't dare
squeeze from a winding.
The pen is mightier –
in the Alzheimer's ward?
-- than the sword?
in a grade school classroom,
to weave and window
book covers and folders
to knotty sheets of holes,
the pinpricks lights --
the day, bored, caught sight
the pen, pressed to point
could dig and scrape and write,
scripting in exacto knife.
falls to pieces in its own trenches.
of canvas, then batting,
then tailored cushions
cut in piping,
grows weary even in duck hunt.
with no fair warning,
impaled and roasting,
the spring has sprung.
soaked in shellac.
with silver taps.
before the water ruffles –
Any device to flumox the frame
is packed for the grand tour,
that saturated loop.
Its portable authorities:
to lightweight that macho vista,
to ready the porte-valise.
The hike, the finger dragged round the rim
and bits of shrill forgery on
the doctor's note for bedrest.
A hoop of laurels rightly angled
awaits this postcard,
as a boiling vat of bronze
awaits those alpine shoes.
courier new –
cut, stands & hooks & all,
precisely with a jigsaw
times new roman –
each spindle hand turned & sanded.
stand together, cocked
a perforating railing.
Few traps are stitched for tiny claws,
the tiny game no game at all:
Who would envy an effort
made with all that many
No one ever looked on a
And thought to live with eyes
full of salt.
a knotty knuckled old woman
knows craft in closet years,
its dragging stoop, and dried out
fur, its coat of (too) many seams.
Found in the counter-culture index:
Receive the yields of cataloguing
and you could brand
a letter for all these pages
Instance, yesteryear's tapedeck
is a fine bet,
a robot's newborn brains
don't account for that era.
In centimeters, the spine of all this
will take up whatever shelfspace
and throb through
the illuminated SPAN…
the earlobes, uncovered fingertips.
True, the stereograph did not make a sound
but was a worthwhile miracle
in breaking colors and straining blocks.
Honor bound, a birdcage's most sought amenity is
a mirror, a funerary dropcloth, or
a nice vanishing point
Mentionable, the beauty of a distant bridge
is a waterside compartmentalized
the river flows forth,
the filmstrip moves, opposite and far off
the slow skate of silvertone pioneers.
The fieldglass zooms, but maxim by maxim
we deduce not so hard and close a place
as a lovely teleported neighbor
wrangling, wrastling, tending & parenting.
The gunter's chain link,
long bar and the lighter weight
and ease of corners.
Cricks, streams and rivers
add a hazy precision;
the kitchen-apron's gentle rick-rack.
Every surveyor, in his dreams,
sees his neighbor farm,
his country, his bit of green,
As the next icon in artful bordering:
Italy's boot, the Mexican cyclone,
Manhattan's eroding totem,
and in forty ounces crunched, California.
Waking early, though,
he knows fancy's clippers
as the rite of tides.
CROUD OF IDEAS
Every cave has a funnel
at insistant threshold,
surely as Sedona, Arizona
has vortex tours and aura photos.
At heights, gravity is
an aggressive force and fall.
High colour, deep air
folds in the tricky reflections of water,
an earth where waters never
spun off the tips
of spawning fronds and spinal armour.
If the big bang's noise, a raffle number,
had drawn a winner,
such luck might sharpen focus
in the unfathomable pulls.
LOST WAX PROCESS
When the paraffin stands
as a watery pool
it burns into second melt.
Echoes of car music, porch music
through the wavy-warm air.
The art-cast is the one that
slips away, a few toxic vapours
and escalating distances.
The craft-cast will linger
on its progeny
and on in the museum of industry.