nothing, and: fair play

Nothing from transfixion

you are the presence of what were suburbs in 1955 white nymph anterior attention no words in you but lying in state like a flower like a golden sleeve

god’s assistance the imminent sting it was a book thousands of readers changed in the continuation

the world is round but what will be brought to us can’t be remembered an unknown source winced when you said it

panting & kissing to coax into light that certain desperate branding iron hot noon singular like your heart with rejoicing

a child sleeps in a pile of doeskin snowman rooted yearning to respond

you touched her sleeping breasts forgot where you were freed from beat & measure

but wilting could a dream send up that refreshing breeze that turns out to sea & eventually sleeps

Fair play

if in your eye your smile or your feet open doors & blue sky in mind of man then the wall with its dizzy raptures fierce as a dog lapping for action leaves me to feast on myrtles & noise of my own voice my own publishing stream seems a snapshot of torment of fire & weight affording nothing somber pleasure asleep or it malingers to taste the slabs of salt the ingots of copper intimacy

tell me you are me & I believe you veteran of wine cracking the dirt tried & true trite twisting of raw silk into the revenant lift her spirit attune her voice show no mistake in reasoning leveler of periplum the hermit sits alone saying tombstones & music

I believe you have found a spell to draw me out I thought every secret was you when you don’t exist how do you speak how know the image of what I’d wanted steeped brewed & spent like a dry leaf trembling on a wall

participants came in a cluster of dialects high tones low & mid whose prospects & pride woods & copses get lost in layers of murmur & slashed worlds certain half-deserted streets to the planet floor the tiny fuselage of a vine

at twenty I tried but over me a face I’m surprised to find soft sentiment & salutes purge the shame of being born more love from him at 19 than ever from the unseen wing impossibly intricate the magnetic curses why not persona al mundo rig a little hammock then retrace your steps

st patrick st mark furnished with a stained mattress even the bawds of euphony burp the millennial sorrows into a mantle of summer no sound like the dolphin-torn grief & faith knowing something gone through the open gate streets full of people & she sat muttering holy whys

I used to go & visit him his lone darkness opposing & corrupting like a proper gypsy like a master craftsman & there were gates to see us through to sleep buddhalike in his hallway the subterranean path the ants & pebbles the vein of will

what guards what purity of melting my mouth sewn shut with an alphabet of tokens unoriginal angels vs. the sole known photograph of him up the hill very full very successful & under his ribs the heart of his people surrounded by beautiful curious breathing laughing flesh

no addled keeper of yesterday’s magic can startle this pain & make it move & live

your impudence protects you from an empty heart shadow of a blackbird every time I’d turn my head

filled with literary peers & dukes & all the sweeping train rung after rung amid the mirrored shapes of country people lights never go out the woods on our side eyes that I love night resonance recedes night walker’s song half full of cold every day it dies