And the story’s all over
Other blown things flew, during the working crew’s insomnia and a venerable barn got swallowed by a township of bees. Their wax and buzz.
Some flowerlike thing took to the painted red wood.
Slats grew porous, hospitable.
When people came to the noise from across the country, a living structure stood before them.
It performed few great feats. Breathing. Wings and production methods carefully observed, as holidays can be.
One man stood next to a child whose mouth hung O.
A woman wore her best hat, crowned by dense and cherry woods.
The next person to say a vowel sound would be set upon by a mass.
The hive decided. Then descended.
The people took up collections and padded down the drive while some church-laden folk sang O. As a swarm of wings brought them up into the air
The sign portends auspicious things, they sang and rose.
From below swam applause.
Worn hands beat together almost into the shape of flight and there, from afar, a similar observance could be made about the very ground where those many bodies stood pinned down as the living barn shook, them all breathing honey wax and wood.
Sugar Maple, Swing
One way the trees keep live
all year is through protection
and the termites’ will
can bore them out
the center of anything
they can hollow until its
as dead as any damn one
of us who
bees follow, woodpeckers
and the locust folded back
into the water like it’s stalking
itself, unsunned and void
how many stunned lights
run the night – what squash
of sound at the mouth of
a riverhorn, the gathering
water in a barrel, what a bowl
shaped surface will do when
surging – it means to mark
the manuscript for playback
to annotate as if in measures
I don’t care for other people’s voices and I hate
and I hate my own, my ownership another falsity
rimmed with sugar and repeated
the ants soured of the picnic,
right across the rim of the bowl
crystals all in their jaws.
Instructive vs. possible
the truth in a poem being more what
than life provides
what happens to the real when it’s underlined
This silence paused between one direction in the switch, say away
sway whatever possession’s in it
currents see their position
set and go
I know the war is encoding everywhere
the crouching meat it was
encroaching here now in this time
trapped ones and zeros – men in size relative
to what they forget
and size itself, man’s relative
A decade to figure out how to change
what becomes light
description or what is changed in the rushes
and how it can be described
as juvenilia…the core ask is
to let everything in and go on
porousness at the scene
center to every crime
burned piano, asking nothing. strings
and hammered applause, no apologies.
The insurance terms us
for our sorriest moments
goes the awl, who who,
out among the payouts
and the holes.
once a cell leans into what it will subsume,
we call the doctor
and skin the shelves. We can amplify the spaces
where things enter
and exit – can blow it out
noise pumping into public
the future dream-ambling
at the base of a structure
room in this and all
the chance of a life event
distressed and catalogued by our moving
to stand back and poke, like with a stick
that is the mind. One pulls on
the distance through time. One pulse
bins the natural cycle it is nothing to contain
is the hammer and one
letter is simply transformed
itself a hammer already topless