Monday, December 05, 2005

3 after Bresson*

Vicious Circles (Bresson)
with Gregg Biglieri

Love cannot exist between people
-- Jack Spicer

as the tremendous volume of the music
takes over obscured by their long hair
they seem to be mourning
-- George Oppen

Children again
Do you hear children
Do you sight
Like a horse
One eye sees
This good wicked throne
Too soon
To be future too
Soon to be past
Bullets fly again and
Broken blood pumps

My love whose eye is this
Forsake me
Round round
For the trees with
Bright flags we go

For the darkness of love
The dark forest
No justice just don’t kill
The king yet
Like a vicious carousel
The horses go round

A round a round community
With nowhere to go
A forest fossilizes
With bright flags and sharp
Tongues and lances
We go
This justice this
Justice perhaps
The trees for the forest

Camera attests
The torso simply framed
A lovely
And brute objecthood
With dark hearts we go
In love where the camera
Cares to wait

Horse whose eye is this
To risk
Don’t forsake me
Roundness the thing is
A universe
Bright camera with a mind
Of its own
Mind of the eye

Lovely a brute dark kiss
Kiss me
I battle to risk
With mind’s bright swords
Swiftly we go
Justice is
Eye’s apocalypse

Blindful injustice
The round community without
Brain needs eyes like
A hole to risk
This bright lance
Love’s body
For the trees

The trees for bloody
Bloody pile all these
All these flags go
For the headless
I am afraid eyes need brains
I am
Afraid I
Love you so

Free radicals children
With a bullet graze
This grassy open
Do sheep gather to shepherd
This thought of death?

Because this time is corrupt
A human community is lacking turn
The other cheek
While no one is watching
No kid too bold

None are guilty enough
None guilty
Enough to love
To hate to love them
All protect
Sheep gather at
The end of this

Roll to our own death
Happily bundle
There is no cold so cold as this
To love to hate to love
This generous violence
A world of mud

I fling no child
Left behind
No kid too bold
Don’t kiss me
Not cruel enough to be
A real beauty
We fall dead at the end
Of any noble thought
This opening

Because they will always
Be corrupt
They will always presume
Their guilt is not free enough
There is no cold so cold
As cauterizing

The wind bloweth
O my breath
Our breasts the lisp of little
And wicked things
Wicked in their thing-ness

The eyes of animals follow
My breath
A wicked thesis
Saintly judgement
Bullets blow
Over this hill how pastoral

Without morality without
The wind bloweth with an inhuman will
To escape disaster
Saintly eyes follow
The gazes of other animals
And children without

Morality they
Are wicked children
The camera finds the place
From which no one looks
In the rearview
Of a bus
In the eyes the eyes
Of a blameless beast

Sing sweetly and long
For that ass
The wind bloweth where it listeth
That gaze will survive
Sheep and rape
Bottles broken over the tain

*composed spring-summer 05. Thanks to Gregg Biglieri who offered suggestions for revision.

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