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  • Homesick for Heaven
  • Tyrone Williams (bio)


Because there is no rain in the land Because there is too much rain in the land

The exiles return—

But as always? Or just so far?

Do they wade in the shallow waters Do they wait for tsunamis

Or those Santa Ana winds?

Do they wander out of gratitude Toward and from the currency of duty

Or does the distance between the circle and spiral

Spiral out of the thought of nothing Out among the stars growing

Small and faint to one another?

Because can only tell a story, the k of Aka as KS, or natural

Selection, or luck—

Platitudes Of levelers. [End Page 1]

Say the earth explodes inside a world Say a world much like the world that dies

Is born in blood, an alphabet we read

Left to right and right to left. What remains unsaid is written

Asymetrically: recto v. verso.


For example breaches the circle cited: They who stand and wait, step, wait,      each step An installment on the rights to copies Of the stations they repeat in slow     motion. Given the anomaly of no parking Spaces I prophesied—that is—inferred     an event, Excess, a hairline fracture in the integrity Of the everyday. One might say I saw     them there Just before I chanced to cross the line Staggered up and down a flight of stone—     spinal cord Of a back so long and wide those little Crosses inching forward, up, were not     a cross Nor a hindrance to my lunch with a woman Whom I might have walked with in a world


Not unlike the world from which I fell

Like a stone dislodged from that stone-set face. What is left behind will yet serve:

    a doorway

Not unlike an open mouth: a tongue [End Page 2]

Sticking out to receive the little crosses— Or a river of spittle: frozen over


She went straight to dessert, her laughter descending

Like a dove plunging out of the sky— Like a skylark. I imagined our futures,

    lovers after

All when all this passes away

    as promised.


Because there is no sun Because there are only stars

I am walking toward the only light I cannot see, a theory of noon in my head, Stump pain in the absence of a stump

I am following the north star— Or is it only Alpha Centauri?

Dawn awaits and beckons like Venus de Milo As I fall forward out of history Under the Order of African Mysteries:

How to break the law and raise the dead How to meld forks into measuring spoons How the circulation of desire Overrides the law of circuit/circuit- Breakers. How the house of language flares:

Blood in the face: a burning bush: the door Locks and unlocks from the inside only. Inside There are only replicas of Venus de Milo [End Page 3] Or it’s time to place this land in order On the Order of the Solar Temple

Time to turn this star into a sun With a bullet to the back of the head— For the flesh is weak. Almost Heaven

Comes in peace and friendship. How to carry, Draw and hold at bay the flux and flotsam

Deemed the world. He which is half-flesh Draws and quarters land into human plots. The eschatology of if-then

Presupposes nothing after, nothing other Than the missing matter of the universe:

Father—or the four quarks, the dark Link that yokes apes to zoos, or apes to stars Farther and farther apart. Why have you?


Because we live      in the Land of Point the evil Count and Oulipo     exchange rings in a clearing of the Pointless Forest     and settle down in a bottomless NORC     called No Return.

Because we live with Arrow     and Oblio death always arrives     a little early and we point back     to incomplete dreams or point out     unkept vows our point being     because the absurd. [End Page 4]


Because you gave your word     you had no right to take his life     you should have come and testified     how he destroyed year after year     we would have listened to believe     not that...

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