Monday, April 16, 2007

For Oriental Space

Embedded in this as there was that
Sound sucked out seemingly from itself
Aware of where world ceases that ground

For hearing instruments products
Sifting products that single note's insistence
Probably from your trumpet immediate
Humming through its thresholds here

To our uncertain tunelessness *I* refuses
To become music in this air so open
We went there vacuous and this was that

The drums tuning to a windtunnel those
Marbles roll turning over what nearer
Ear was never place enough but the body
Makes a voice recalled someone sucked

In to what *with* breathing with us again
Music was first a wreck of voices where
Instruments disappear so sound can live.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

These Literal Bones

~ for Beverly Dahlen

What is written on these bones before ash
Burned them before the dead were really

Dead --"if we are living we can not know,
if we are dead we can not know"-- from
These bones flames these bones derive

Messages --"over and over a tardy light"
-- Messages from our lives whenever we

Were not looking within not fat with that
Vision "one's career among bones" for

--"abstract death"-- was --"a hole in the
Skull"-- I heard this in the distance of those
Flames fire leaving its message here --"to

become indistinguishable of wood-ash"--
Where literal bones already inscribed us.

Nothing towers here no engines...

Nothing towers here no engines for our plans mossed
Over kids know nothing knowable fly over those roofs

Not a sky where plans were born except to survive the
ir memory here no other engines for our love's all talk
Which synchs our voices sometimes we wore masks sa

ng truer expressions under duskier skin summer what
Meaner dogs meant what they said to sing the blues h
ave a clue something's shadier the way a gun can beco

me everything when no one's got nothing so he was su
btracted from labor boredom becomes the executioner.