new poem

Chesid Through Seal

One should wait with eagerness, hungry and endangered.
His wells I can hold underneath; a Jacob, rubbed dry--
When I have tapered his lands; I could-- relaxed-- drop
and red his purposes. My mouth and stirring perfected.
Selah. I have another purpose; I have another mouth-- his hope,
his palms, the transparent if. I become boy-nipped at the go
and go. Lord, clearly I can finish his hope mounted stalk,
his Galilee; his teachings hidden in thick curtained stroke.

The living curse remembered, a shimmering faced ghost
underneath. To glean saltiness amidst his disciple.
He's upward stroked into many dead children. But they own
their gloom. Never hungry is our chirped land, and his sign.

I admit pleasure

I admit pleasure in jealous perversity
Similar to unforced, yet reluctant trysts,

In Schumpterian avid destructions
of the smartest plans, the beloved

institution destroyed. Insiders weeping.
The two-fold universe Eliade-perennial

interpenetrates like overlapped parenthesis
of need-want nee want-love. Open to

The Goldbarthian war, the Ichabod slouched beast
and boyhood whore. Welcome all saints as

scarlet as bad girls wearing Saint Lucy white
so to avoid the slap fall of hard whippings

whipped with spoons, with hair brushes,
with plastered lath. Help me, the beatings bought

me lust creative. The new and the old sins be
washed away. Every beating I received so

richly deserved and hard fought. Dread and fearsome
captives like sand, like small slippered fish in seine.

Become Like Nets 2009 Horoscope

Become Like Nets... 2009 Horoscope

We each must be and come to be like fallow nets
a middlishly tryst amidst the darkling below.
Habit formed, we'll lead a roped luck down to a tuition,
bounded as self-directed line repeals its fidelity of time.

Nor are we what we can see by looking inside the chinks
in us two-folded fisher-folk; nor entertain the sentinal links
of our shoreboats. Have you read the sign revealed at Candlemass?
as if certain imbolc-stemmed consciousness knew how to wrestle.

What we foresee, and what some finger will connect,
will shore us and our little thread into revealation--
though we're alliance-bound and relation-shipped.
Grappling skeins become taken aback partly as apparition.

Nor is what we look for an elucidation of bonded abyss,
that can-- and will through our habits-- bind and inspire.
You ever notice that this little stuff is exactly Your nostrum?
You are behemoth, and we envision a binding clutch of holy days.

Cedar Point Snow

Cedar Point Snow

Ready to change my line
from consolation to desire.
Behind modern imagination
and attention to detail I'll
find snow hiding in notches
of prairie grass.

Not pleading swish,
sweeping into steppes
past Cedar Point kept
out from Clement and
moved by the rail front
gusting into the flint.