Poetry

Night Thoughts

It may be that any poem as we read it is only some of the first few spring leaves of the actual poem, whose true unfolding—from deepest root to flower to fruit to recreative seed—is to be found in its proliferating, uttering of itself in us.

A person sits next to a fugue, To Light Out, Now Then

A person sits next to a world of possibilities/leaving the latch unlocked…

Unbewusste Orte, Feuilles Tourbillonnantes

One likes to dance,/another needs to/tighten her wheel.

The Elect,
This Time Gone So Fine

You can’t hear me/whimper over thumps/on your Bible…

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Poetry

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NOV 2005

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