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Those six stones. For some reason They are hurtling, and ifyou meet them head-on You will know something nobody means But her. She is moving at the speed oflight Some place else, and though she passes Through you like rock-salt, she is still six And not one. But neither is the rain Single, blotting number and stone With vibrancy; neither is the rain, I tell you, Man riddled with rocks And lust: The rain putting out Your wretched, sympathetic Stone-jawed poetic head, its allotted Fresh bodies falling as you stand In amongst, falling and more Than falling falling more Falling now falling More than now. Stars and grass Have between them a connection I'd like to make More of-find some way to bring them To one level any way I can, And. put many weeds in amongst. 0 woman, now that I'm thinking, Be m. there somewhere! Until now, ofthe things I made up Only the weeds are any good: Between them, Nondescript and tough, I peer, The backs ofmy hands At the sides ofmy face, parting the stringy stalks. The Eagle's Mile / 442 Tangible, distant woman, here the earth waits for you With what it does not need To guess: with what it truly has In its hands. Through pigweed and sawgrass Move; move sharply; move m Through anything, and hurt, ifyou have to. Don't come down; Come forward. A man loves you. Spring-Shock All bubbles travelling In tubes, and being lights: up down and around They were: blue, red and every man uncaught And guilty. Prison-paleness Over the street between strobes Unfailingly. But no light On top ofanything moving, until The last, one: one. Whoever it was switched it Dead when he saw me. Winter; not dreamlike but a dream and cars Ofthat. I took my stand where they were called By absent law to stop, obstructedly raging And I could not get in. All their windows Were sealed and throbbing With strobe, red and blue, red and blue And go. One pulled out ofthe flight Ofothers; pulled up and may have had back-road Dust on it red dust in a last shot Of blue. A man in a cowboy hat rolled down The window on my side. His voice Was home-born Southern; Oklahoma, Texas, Could have been. Manhandling my overcoat, I slid In there with him. Central Park South, I said, A war-safety wne; the St. Moritz. Spring-Shock / 443 ...


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MARC Record
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