Saint Nicholas fr Oathsome Friday
Comes Mike ward-whistle,
come run the animals
wheeling into cages;
come beat furnace one more time,
breaching hilarity’s clumsy clime.
Come Cheek Jack ’o’ Lantern
printemps boozes pronk
and priestly skirmish, mealy mud.
Teak or fettle is various clod
on shoulders, sexual
prods coif and least whim
of omelette, pleat in Hazy, Lazy Gym.
Bright college oars,
ripple, ripple, my biceps,
I’m cad for trial,
I’m humble I’m
tumble to break
th’ illuviating physics.
And the Guv’ners are stilts in mansion.
And maritime bust, squished holiness
of spray, cling to me my march
through the centuries of kiss
and Grüss and Hotel Bantam
ummm Goalie! he catches rearward.
Jeepers Dreamers Hymen Hymenaee
to total trickle tuckle toast.
Grant me Irradium and “Was ist los?”
and what can be not pillory’s Ghost.
.
Part and Parcel Past Periwinkle
When to whittle away,
how or where release the engreasing
clay kibosh, turn fresh
and forward the way is not lost;
how and where to summon credentials
up to navigable swim-sort
the causing grades the depth
there are layers outguessed;
in what avenue to concede
the duty take weaving to form
crescent descend and slide parallels
are gust and have abundance to test.
When each section quarter the roll
over wavy deckle-sway brooding
closes within backseat regress
the lunges are airy the fast friends
clean to idolize mark clue or crest.
When to swivel the shavings a corn
or mango pit or ascension
that dribbles down sweep sits
humble sopping funnels off list;
how and where to dissemble quitting
shower lathes away chances are fresh;
when or to what terrific toboggan
light smippets of sun seem
penetration on stately rays it rests.
When or how or where it gets
the tapper’s coat or cream it nets
sudden shore-swing closer harboring
it steals upon fanlets gently washes
as the spoken tears gleam anguishable re-wits.
Time claims and seems top of quest.
Heidegger’s “Analytik des Daseins”
Wednesday afternoon, August 18, 2010
Came up with title while typing up: 1:05 p.m.,
Friday, September 17, 2010
A couple of changes are accidental while typing or the result
of not being sure of the handwriting
.
Liquids Will They Ever
Out of the limes
come looselier than them the instances
of theatricals, or all bound one.
Though they are not climate-wise as if bronze sharks
snuck onto empty foam without their lovers,
they could certainly
use more of that graceful bending.
Yet somewhere coo-coo-coo-roos snap and snipe,
they do so at their fishertaker’s wreck.
Not out of it or found
they slip and they could slime now rueing
until certain lean figures in tactics
swoosh down onto the sun-waxing,
until certain raggards slap down.
By all forking left and right
it sounds as if the clinking of lower leaves
will be a system of peace, to trace higher and higher,
to lap and to broadnap over the loneliness.
It shuns as if, neighbors, and then
what sudden ineffectual are sexy sliders.
You might await the wilting of the drums.
That particularity of tramping,
let it plait and skate
announced on stones,
cast sideways so that no openings
may now pry home their shrovetides into the vast.
By Grimey, I garry over, tarry, do not
besmirch everything’s past,
just a little number
I found somehow, I rumbled now,
in its big bright kitchen midden.
In coffee house trying
Involuntary music not a problem
After submitting
Saturday mid-day, December 27, 2008
Extraordinarily, exceeding-dashingly adding
and revising: 3:23 a.m., Thursday, January 8, 2009
More and more hearing of the jazz, the grass; and additions
in last line to make two: 9:06 a.m., Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Revisions plummy with Great Symphony in tow: 5:48 a.m.,
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
.
Grace On Top
Reach happily, can you,
with ambidextrous monopoly
to shooting plumes in merry zones,
and quartered in aesthesis.
Come and clown and capture,
celebrating gelato-sis,
the part that, all unclogged,
flails batteningly down hatch
and patch for haven, full-drawled.
Reach and screech and stretch,
landing nemesis by haul or by torque;
for the many lines of trap-doors,
unformed to shanty, or samba, shake
horn and becoming and rough-house;
and once you snoop the inverted panoply,
the times may scramble rapidly,
churning your old-fish departure.
Yet there is no meanness in claret;
fade on, poach limes for maiden tour,
next brine no sinecure, no scuppy floor.
Uncharacteristically
you flash floodlights, score
in horizon as if eye-in-a-pouch.
As if toward scaramouche
you agree, or still more brittle
finery, it’s time to toll
the shell-game’s bells; your pair o’ lips
run packet boats from flattery.
Or you haggle the wiggle, string no fleece
making the easy trouble, but sheathe to
courser’s verve and caracole and flown
from above raven ’gainst adder’s rank.
You see, it’s like this:
The tides fill up the earth,
and even bubbles pale the berth.