the fortress

we have a moat
filled with carp big pike
muskie even to inhale the femoral arteries
of any intruder

we have a wall
steel wheels grumbling and humming
all night, bright spot lights shining out
the false prophets who should dare
propose a method or a madness

we have that glass factory
smashing vitreous pannels
discarded angles to be reconstrued as a liver cask
exporting to hither and thither
zephers on the ground sparkling and sharpening

we have that rail
a volcano passive and beneath the crust active
one accident away from krakatoa no-joke-ah
coal dust smoke coat
a tonic for periodic table laced alveoli

we had a history
clovers donkeys and the kings daughters brung
together a missive of a grand economy
tannin and oak leaves left livid fingers
raw and seven digits prosper

we have the point
being solid on foundations of prisms
the whole earths a beacon and the skys the lemons
with black snow falling upon the eppaulettes of
the french insurgent general, scrawling excuses on
the people's last properties
 

the guns of august

a gust aftificial though
the momentum's slough
to call it a bluff
the barber of seville cutting your throat ending the blush

sometimes it isnt some time, it is something

to sit and admit a burden uplifted
the quick decisions of neuron transitted
I think and I look whether time still exists
on the other side of four windows and sills

fair thee well to an ocean of seven tempers
eight times over the limit of a half whiskey ginger
a quarter cup sugar and still you wonder whether within as without
these visions can crumble

the sprinkle

the smell came first
before the sound of many impacts
little drops reach down from the clouds
and touch their surface to intricate works

jupiters great red spot

torrid flurries, crawl laminar walls
frozen gas as slush mist breaking a billious burst
tar red wheels open the thundering magneto spigot
strewing mold straw solvent corsairs across
a rushing tide a million years wise
rippled with cats eyes and gnewts pies the witches
brewed up an alien sky bitter cashew curls feathered edges
resting interlocked with the calmest clashes
and the layers to say nothing of the layers
indistinguishable from libraries and just plain old ice
making its never ending fall

the gold is under the skin

a shimmer and flash
pulled out of the currents catches
drifting with teeth outreached
to bite passing basses

the skin with thin plates
I love them all on sight
the colour of the sun and the coolness of the moon
the slip of eelgrass and the smell of willow roots
 

the persistence of clouds

above the blustery water
the clouds are dark and mutter
about rain and blocking the shine

and why doesn't the wind bother
them as it flutters our feathers
down here, as persistence matters
it must be colder than hotter
for a cloud is closer to the other

the snow of summer

breezes fling little drifts
in the corners of every angle
if all the weightlessness of fluff
could add up, a ton or more
floats easy through blue haze

sun in hum

the sparkled glass
exploding an even pane
on the yoked ones
toiling behind the plow

rain in june

spose plastic paddles
splashing feet spell
drum beats snare highat
the dance of little wet minutes
in the spot lights reaching an inch deep
down the block and green
accross the corner a pavement garden
growing streams and shiny leafs
lean out to kiss the window screen