Grain Knot Eye

In this tin containing fire
is a natural object knocked against
the young echo of a whistle heard
before the end of attachment

—is a new meadow in two parts braided
with a clasp and sacred flutter
of six pages dimembráto

—is a one-legged journey across
the anchor-ice of a century twisted
into a stream of armor

—is a wax cake of fretted nettles gleaned
from Van Gogh’s fallow management
of poplars straight and twined

—is a house of serpents wreathed
one neck into another chained
to the form of a pear tree

—is an imperial foil cap crumpled by a few tinkling promises

—is a one-lung diesel engine pushing a few carcasses

—are a few silken sheets overgrown with southeast breezes

—are a few wooden answers cut from twice-a-day letters

—is a brief variation on a strain woven
to shreds of costly insolence
cast from a kitchen spoon

—are worn shells resounding
with noises beaten by bowed
pipes clutched in brassy
fear and wonder pointed
towards an evening falling
apart in dry husks wrenched
all to flinders cut from thin
stiff paper and wands coated
with clean brown memories
fresh-lighted under lavish
skylines of ungrounded sleep
laid between roped diamonds
straw-packed in contours
of joy crumbled into this
tin containing fire.


copyright © 2011 lcmt

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