You can safely e merge to sit with magenta tulips ,
orange day lilies shouting
surprise(!) in their inaudible – to – humans – language. . .. Dandelions make
punctuation marks in short isomorphic sentences of
manna and buffalo grass. You are struck
by the watery sounds grackles make. It’s fabulous ,
and they are forgetful of you , which is also grand, gathered
as they are in the crabapple and hopping in miniature
crescendos ~ ^ ~ ~ ^ they’ve made a discovery, these branches this
bark : new country, paradise, the real
estate they have longed for . How far out
on a limb are you willing to go? , , perched
on the radical reaches of
nerve nebulae . … . Into the blue
beyond . . … .
a less bird-like sotto voice chimes : “that’s your grandmother’s
language” & “ it’s getting hot” – –
Y ou move beneath
the crabapple, grackles
scatter. In the halo of sentence-diagrams
there’s a buzzing Gertrude
vibrated along with. You watch a bumble bee go at it
with a blossom, and a smaller black drone hovers :
amateur observing a pro. The speaker
phone makes an ugly sound • from inside
the house , as though calling for a
doctor. The message says
not to leave a message ,, someone
ornery or desperate or oblivious does so
anyway. Your beloved is
in the painting studio laughing at the astrological
forecast that has interrupted the jazz
show. Briefly,
s/he hammers a board . When you first crept out
the door you were startled
by branches of the lilac , how exactly
they were capillaries craning their angular
snake-like necks , forest explosions ! (radiant
ends ). This has everything to do with
the limb-
ic system , your thin malachite t-shirt
a pond –
w/ gold sparkle , which floats , ,
and the emerald ink you write in every
spring b/c you have a need to
talk to yourself in color after the spanipelagic wash
of winter. The black dog drinks
from the bird’s oval basin & lies down covered
in the cadmium heat of the nearest
star . Light is amniotic , we swim .. More banging
sparks up static in the studio. You have only
so much sand left in the eternity
symbol , how are you going to
count it ?
( The dog rolls on his back
r olls back on his side
snorts . ) The virgin constellation sits at a tilt ,
rock-nested. She’s seen more gracious
rotations , but remains
in the prayerful position. On the other side of
dishevelment , stone and latilla steps hide
the insignia of crab beneath
sage. It isn’t that you
are crabby , it’s that your efforts are beginning to
resemble a gust hitting a cluster
of densely packed particles. Perhaps your
elements are perplexed . Wind
is ephemeral.
The dog leaves the rays
in favor of a gray
the crabapple casts
,, ( The dog , at least , thinks
you might have something to offer. ) The grackles
have decided you are a non-
threat, so move in as close
as the nearest apple .
Chuck chuck chuck , the shiny crow says,
Pheew. Perfectly normal bees
descend to lower branches , close to your
hat, which is
human. Nature adores you ,
what more can you want ?
The unknowable answers
w/ last night’s dream : B.H. exhorts ‘A.S. to WRITE !
A Klee-like twig-drawing appears : rectangular dwelling
containing a flower-in-a-pot, a stick-tree , and a stick-person
etched in the skin of
an upper arm ,
a shot in the dark
( like the doctor gives ) of the lyric :
( according to Donne ) :
“a little world
made cunningly .”
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