as swans war soon I will lose my temper, all these plows that desert us, that’s all you need to marry your points to, I am writing this one as Ezra Pound, conditioned on a leash, as unique lake views form before, then voice gender, voice night, voice there is no such thing as non sequitur when you are in love, turn the hope of disclosed goals into
as capital longing, why not let the paintings touch the pearls, as drift bands us, we lie unaware of the ward, silence dreams of our faces, the drifting off of our sentences becomes us, it’s more a dream than a plan, all we wake is without aching
she handed me a look, I had objected to this, and then it took a while, have you tried breaking into empty skyhole, what’s all do you see, what’s all night incision, or not at all inclusively, we drop light into it, now together we look at her look, we do not flee into supreme dislogic, the most beautiful form, we see, both see lake, we each see separately, we discover later Leda, only she saw the swan, nothing but you here God, repetition [End Page 113]
David Bartone lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, and teaches at UMass Amherst. Poems recently appeared in Denver Quarterly, Mountain Gazette, Aldus: A Journal of Translation, iO: A Journal of New American Poetry, and Verse Online.