Slumber the raison, esprit the headpiece,
naker of the membrane, or the war hearts,
of the tymp stick.
Midnight poets of tromba marina,
want for the breath of oaten reed,
ask the madrigal, for her pair of virgins,
even as dulciana sleeps.
Soft syrinx of Saturn, or quints
of the shepherd’s pipe,
feathered birds Philomel, in errands
of Polymnia, measure the air,
that oud or theorbo, might sustain,
weary chests of humble cantors, Eros meek.
To caress the dreaming stone, to coif by touch
a faith of minimum diamond, I equestrian by
strong pillar, foveate facets of honor.
Might I intervene to lift the light, to occupy
through consecrated spirit, to raise in yoke
my impediments of fetters fire?
I am the annulus of a gray headed sky, I
occupy that corner, loft of grief those waters
of attrition, where pivot, a hinge of sun?
It is her ring finger, for which gibbous and the
breathing gibbon’s, surrender follies of fright.
Narrowing’s of stature, Emma drinks her cup
of flowers, clippings of thoughts remembered,
with cert of Christmas holly.
Wishful wayfarers want upon her garland silk,
consortiums of the fleeting astilbe, that Welsh
by whim, her waltzing back. Emma of white
strings, hatbox in the glove swain of tiny but
regimental pearls, immuring seas of hand.
The moon lite night in long coat, adjusts it’s
lamp of mercy mirth, to corporal liberties at
her bedposts, officious dreams she commands.
Emma in the undergrowth, trims the ascot’s
of lothario’s, supples yet all sovereign nations,
by heart of single name.
I leave my cast of walking stones upon the water,
faces I fletch there, before such sink. Argonauts
I’ve posted of summoners dreams, once by sandbar
or float of pumice, sovereigns not as they seem.
What the earnest or the eager submerge of wishes,
I’d given myself to sea, every coral that net my heart,
knows better of me, all my current hopes fail to the
latches, gramercy’s else-wise closed.
So by sort my skiffs of lore, would douse within
the fathoms, such portions of anchorage, I’d felt
claim of flattery’s shores, succumb in the mists I
imagined, heart that drowns, my weight of ire.
Composing tree, the Blueberry Hawthorn
of the strings, maturations orange leaf of
autumn, sorrowful minors of September’s
bruise, the unusual embracing forest, offering
audible chorale to violet wounds, or remembrances
of first white petals, when life was summered,
or the heart was nearer noon.
Tusks of piano, tempest the soul tears of the
rivers, the beasts have cried, yet for the baritones
of vacant rush, or trebles of a weeping mother,
holdings of final sight, orchestras leaving last,
the captured elephant, of bearers young. Write with
Augustan forthright musician, the earth is asking,
forlorn arbitrations, from your grassing hands.
Life is a writing, thespian by craft, what Shakespearian
homilies we each arena, by capers of comedy, or habits we
fall upon the sword, peril of kindred, or tragedies of
heart, we reside wanton, as orbit or globe, act upon us.
How our spirits effervesce, our gain of path and paces,
sea strides or woodlands timbers, exquisite is the coppicing
of our props! Artesian artisans, our tissue that blots
the watercolors of fear, twice of all our images, fill our tears.
If by fate, single among fury, one finds the pedestals of
gratuitous limelight, bring the gavel arch to parade the
dance, but recall the step back, for we all hunger the
fervent heart of position, our tales brimming, leash of word.
Gardenias elata, fragrant flora n’er her chin,
border impatiens of bindery notices, on bias, of broadened
sleeves. Creamcups, calming Astilbe and Baby’s
breath, bathing in soft paste porcelain, in vestige
vessels of acanthus leaves.
Red enamel interiors of silver spoons, supple
summer roses for such forever ends, tepid to the
temperamental ornaments of ironed nainsook, in weary
desquamate of the crease, titles placings by Limoges,
of delicate, costmary plates.
I considered her hands as marquisette, gossamer’s
quaint, motion’s equivalent to Qiana or mousseline
de liane, faint against the ebon wood, and for the alarms
of sunlight, white phantoms offered illusions of thin
trails, I sought and reached for the remoulade of her
spirit, but left air her portions palm.
Why, leaf of green porphyry,
are you mandala of summer waters,
your premonitions in ambits of verdigris,
child annulus, for it’s mother tree.
Moderating crescentic,
hollow cwm, in col of currents,
in shirr of conscience, reseda,
pinking sentiments at round roots,
nippling memories, soft cypress?
Residuals of residence, apse of sedilia
beautiful lambeth walking,
at the hora of hems, or saraband
for the ornaments,
where nearer sisters have been,
before the west works,
of middle May, rent by soiled wind,
gratuitous gatherings,
of August aspirations.
Autocratic in the gnosis, tangram of self,
labyrinthine in the rebus of anon,
stoats in syntactic of hieroglyphs.
I of cairn, I of maze, italics in arcanum,
sennet of runes, acrostic of Sanskrit,
coded gods of enter nous, sacred piste.
Curiosa of conspirators, I of esoteric,
kinesics of twine, arms akimbo,
terror my cannonade, of self blue fingers.
The obfuscate of syntax, asks her book
of prayers, where am I in kindred script,
or communal area, oft offerings of gold leaf,
durable lords of pity or favor?
I thought her name transmogrifier, leavening by
introduction, a seasonal acronym in solstice of
peculiar onsets. A lovely meliorate in cinches of
thought, I transfigured, internal antipodes I would
come to pardon, as serendipities of obscuring fog,
what I might persevere in proteus, of Sumar May.
If-ish, I became undisciplined, throughout the
imbalances of her mercurial eyes, soft jade
pendulums, adverse to stasis, a flush wealth
within her metamorphic phases, my swimmers,
fin of moon, juddering her caesuras’s of Pampero.
Satiety’s of deviations, her January winds ofArgentine,
banding well born, her gems of malachite, albicant
mood in mystic tenth’s of sorceries, I would quote
of learned arguments, in lashes of her vibrissa
frost, imperial streams, shrives of visual amnesty
niveous coronets, ticklish, my sealed structures!
Hearing, yes, jactation of the strings, an uncertain
number of seeds, in the gullet’s of drumming, mallets
resonate, breaking open millets, through the famished
feeding of Bohemian Waxwings, the Gallinules or the
Starlings.
Paraffin houses, caviler criers of the ceiling flames,
walls of the honeycomb, malleable in summers heat,
I was made erect by the force of solids, but in truth I
was Ouricury wax, soft Montan, torrid Candelilla,
I must search again, my tone.
Tell me, how do I hold firm, the crux of flowers,
where might I establish my march of roots, if I
stem without water? I’grief this languid stain of
purples, the constant redressing of hues, I hunt
wildly the violet, in irrigations of faith, the prior
crosses of drying love.
I am not tensile hour, nor am I sericeous time,
I accommodate five stone, as immersive ovals might
in kilos of water, I fossil petrifactive, yesteryear.
I am yield’s lissome, I fissile the nerve of volute
springs, I leaf elliptic the sedimentary quarrel, I
am oil-tempered, lapis for the kneading.
I am the voice of elastomers, tones of Koroseal,
cries of Ceara’ rubber, I own what is pliant, I
do not possess myself, but my sigh is coming,
my sigh is coming, mild the day, mercy the shorn!
Portraits of rain plainchant, a piacere,
thus may please,
or else…ossia,
fair of roundelay, nocturnes
through the slow growth,
willows of divisi,
diminuendo.
Lied nothing, the hymns move quicker,
niente, Piu,
wanting more,
tertiary chord of sonatina,
by the fall of the psalms,
con amore, vigor rising,
vif, there be, tones
lively.
The fowling piece is human, harquebus,
arbiters of fields too neat,
hustings of the sparrows,
chronicles,
registrars severances, of cleavage wings.
Hippodromes at the waist,
tillers turf of obese possessions,
the coliseum’s eradicated,
passageways of earth or owlets,
perishing in the amphitheater’s,
of our birth!
The readers on the lines,
of bright Indian corn,
or sentence structures of alfalfa,
earth exhausted in dexterity’s of greed,
haunting stags by blunderbuss,
wounded Aceldama,
the glaive through the habitat,
the kris or kukri,
claymores of the wilderness and the reed.
Hand whose glove is water, liter me
the waterfall,
noble wrists of precipitation,
moisten me,
dampen away,
my citadels in circumspect,
of clay pigeons.
Remember me from the narrative’s,
that palm of Helvola
water lilies,
turn of me the droplets,
Zwergseerose,
Laydekeri Liliaca,
if azure, the sampler,
may submit.
She gave me skeleton, firm affirmation I was bone,
to her September face! I increased the bullion, in
her amber eyes, gold of quartile, bore my fixity,
thurible as sachet’s, of timeless sun.
It was certain cavalier, I would fortress in her
touch, I was anterior, her etiquette of doves,
the civet jasmine of her amorphous symmetries,
rounding of lace flowers, she made form of me.
I forbade the augur of Indian paint brush, the
essoin’s of quittance, the burials of December, the
winter’s omit, presage of hearts, mollify passive,
the penalties of snow, come early.
Commune, murmur, flagstaff of gypsophila, seta,
arboretums of rao canna, bey of yarrow,
exalts of chaparral, cauline of the merry bells,
celebrations of clianthus, the kingdom of the winds
is coming!
Haworth’s Minor and the cinnabar moth, are
jest of center, meridians of Aquarius,
stars of the resting bud, in the vessel stones of Bora,
or any riparian urn of rain, fly, from the ovary,
lei for cider, if the tempests Levant, or necklines
of Khamsin winter oft…
savant.
A moire primes my chest, bar blue ribbons,
cadet bottle flies,
something chrysoprase between them,
loden green or verdigris,
jading of the obvious finch.
Duvet’s comfort, the buttermilk of chameleons,
tessellated birthmarks of sowbread
and ragged robins,
a sprig of light patina,
gardens of strawberry mark.
I note temerity’s of Yellow Sea,
sulfur of canaries,
in flight of amaranth skies,
Purple Hearts of gallinule,
or the bruise of upland skin,
cloud banks of Heraldic cobalt,
violaceous diffidence,
perilous canopies of gentian violet.
Readers of bas bleu, precisionist’s in quest of the
Brahmin answers, are mindful of folds in well versed
corners, where the lettering of the Latinitasters ends,
the humanists are wot for wonder.
Devotees of the pristine line, are the botanists
at peace with forbidden fruits, Red Rome or the
noesis of Newton’s pippin, are literati of pulp papers
and prime members of the technics trees.
The empress tree of suzerainship, protectorate
seneschals', is imperial reign of lancewoods, potent
of frankincense.
There are no mutineers, among the purple kings
of the fruit trees, nor interregnum in the green
holt of the softwoods, by medlar or
by teak.
At first light of the swallows, as diverse wings
may carry the sun, the skin of ebony, will greet
the plum, and the May apples of Northern spy,
will fall to licorices and rest exigencies order,
in hepatica, and hyssop.
I kept to the mists as a child, the Combe and the
strath just below observation, I summoned fanciful,
narrow-leaf Angelon, I concealed materials in
Queen Anne’s lace, the feral Ammi majus, I could
speak with my carrot cousins.
It was preferential to cipher self in sympathetic
inks, I washed yellow, in the pollen of Crocus elwesii,
or violets of the boysenberries, hidden intaglios in
cotillions of Incense and Deodar cedars. I was cede
to casuarina, I was safe in the imagineers of bebeeru,
blindfolding Emily, in light of the greenheart,
taiga forests, quiet by the rue.
