☐ descriptions that leave out



 

a low tone, a bellow

and they were all said

to have left the span

apart with strangers

though that it should never have been

sought, fled or lit is calling forth

form from a port within (.) it

thus, i stayed it, started

for an intimation a

sudden nothing but remaining

small and admittedly it was nearly

all possible, tall grasses

then with still bent thin stalk

or what appeared as blank husks

fell, (their) greens dimming swaths as

they should around me, lips

and bouts of distance

that had their own years

all this fill i

gaped obediently at

as it then came close

settled short for a while

with breads and fruits as tresses for

mere repetition, the strange glow

of all the sudden recurs in limb

numbs them bright, stables

for indecision

 

in case of

need: imperfection

clothed and spoke to

be loathe to remarkably more

than mouthing someone pent

unless gaps dispel and soon

empty amid plinth

greens, why not go to them (?)

if you will you will

gleam from it quietly non-

glare given here scattered as

pitches at nearly empty

hollows and shine that have

been shown us to prevent all this

 

what then is there still to be

left out, to be small

with to be still with

the still seen, all this ore-

glow to yield to

dew unbeading and not that

a drop dismantled hides me in order

not to go to them, a forced home

in notation, grasses, a name out

inaccessible resound no

surfaces were returned me but maps

without accumulation no one will

be there holding up

eponymous as though with cold

if it should be allowed

a title to occupy it, immed

then, or on is it

acres of frost almost

barking that they should

not be emphasized

 

to fail nuance, i finally gained the ruin

its least seen side or the rest

coloring leaves behind

or a small wood with no constraints

on replacing need

poised to lop off a fragment a(t) length

of needle jutted out and shook, bore

shade down a bit

that it is possible

to point anywhere longer

than the sound or the bend

it rounds, that is something

searched carefully enough

such that it can be approached, that is

how is one at its none

 

i would have

to begin to make a sound

to wish to arrive yet did not

instead audibly huddled, immediacy pulled

from clean grey plumage middle

dim rods slumped over the dents in things

that pose as what they impress

and though they all grew out

wards gaining one another, conifer

nettle bits, however it is said

to be unmarked or (un)toward

how possible is its remaining

hulled up as all objects are

seeping away then to

come back little once i've stopped

 

something to do with sides you've disappeared

into, face in the shake quickly

abolish this ambiguity

and replace it with

another i decidedly crest

and the varying distances from

the embrace of small hills on

certainty below here admits

wonder without referring to it, seeing

oneself off cliff-lip with

a fall and this too blimps, veers

aside in this way carries out light

furnished by such a source gathered

from, lent to, left by

something unnoticed then improved

upon, i thought you

resemblance was (us) unremarkable

a tunnel that enclosed

slept us like a blow or was itself

listening for duress

 

what would a mistake

here look like, a small brook

stilling focus as examples

standing for entire bodies in

which one can not take any

step for focus or what brimmed

there assumes a too

few, where the trees

caustic though not too, spill

uneven brown gravel

such that dusts cone up

 

to be mapped was

then not a lack at

all but talk of their draw on me

a cause to be at a

loss more rigorously flawed

than its object and

despite all that is dinned into

i left everything

out except

that one was lead

 

there yellows limn

fleeing points, the top twelve feet

of pine making (uncertain)

that one had nothing more

to enclose, likely

 

 

Contributor

Binswanger Friedman

After studying philosophy and mathematics he received an MFA in poetry from CUNY Brooklyn College. Through a Fulbright grant he then moved to Vienna, where he continues to live, write, research and translate. He is an active member of the translation collective, VERSATORIUM and is the co-founder/editor of the poetry journal, a Perimeter. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming in VOLT, The Capilano Review and (in German translation) in manuskripte and hammerausgabe. He will spend 2016-17 in Germany on a DAAD grant.

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