from Coronelles – Set 2
Then, BEAT neurotic sky, sore
happy little friends.
O, little lovers, mask
to tweezer out the gutter
liquid voices, shield
its wrenching tenancy
corrupted, faces in the stones
its cacophony: A dusk: A
beating: A feeling line,
let’s go down shine on blast
pretends itself a feeling.
I brought a tongue to the meeting.
Began to backslide again.
Somewhere in the memory bank.
The motion of a celebrant.
I threw myself in the bin.
A finger tapping the window.
eldership speaking of commerce
waves beating at a ship in peril
lower the life
raft higher and
higher here is the corn. My bonnie lies over
the stuttering storm: Weather conditions deteriorate.
I’m better now, & time spreads away
across the flood. If you hate flying ant day,
we hate you. I was having flying ant day-
dreams in the flying ant day-
care flying ant-
ibiotics to the depot, & over the millions
of grasses, back along
the unyielding year. The drunken morning
blustered in & spoiled against the shine. Sapphqui
stares up through swinging emerald drops:
You were singing over
me four green fields, flying ants, a fleet
of deans, the little splitting waves cut up to blood.