All one; revolving.
Part One
Circling ‘round,
The idea,
Revolving, All One--
It’s falling,
through Autumn
”Create something
Of that broken scene,” he said
remaking--
The Sunflower Altar,
A vine circling over Paumanok island.
The minotaur carting the relics
mumbling, “Something about a tourist...”
tracing another arc,
Crispin journey--
Jaunt to the south
Refreshment,
in air, through season
Identity with the Sun
Shading into night-- sea drift
THOU ORB ALOFT!
Sun smeared cycle,
turning to icy self
Original dream,
A place one could
Surround one’s self with, vision
Dreamed in winter of city snow
the sun is setting
The great hero taking leave
We go on about this death
Scrawl a tragedian testament
The sky is not moved
The story goes on
expanding beyond edge
Ordeal of landscape, my new poem
Is old poem-- over a repetition
Gaining still some sense
Of a self
In the cycling,
color was ironic after all--
Sun and snow.
Spiraling space into apocalypse.
Exaggerated to bird cartoon,
Fragmented circle, the images clattering
Revolving, climb-- fall back,
into black, and shade to
Comic sublime,
Shards falling
In slow motion
The pieces ending
In ripple waves,
Sound of dead man,
No man
bibble of sorts--
BROKEN BIRDS
The leaves growing
In cracks
The villa’s webs and broken windows
The melting snow,
faint sun in March
That red object
Organizing everything,
Still to go back,
to check a blue
Giotto’s blue,
Red in the Mysteries
Bang!
Clap of hands-- at the surface
Springing to moment
and BLOOM of
Summer height
Pleasure that changes
Existing self of that moment
Breathing in and out
weeping bare foot
Something happens
Ordering, remembering
Happening,
testing feelings
Against this wall
I'd go back into my notes. I guess in a way not wanting to miss any thing I might have thought.
Any way as W Stevens said the Imagination is always at an end and I am always looking for some completion that never comes.
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