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    Breathturn into Timestead

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      cork.

      * * *

      ASLANT,

      as for us all,

      the single hearing-flap

      perches on you,

      free,

      and the deafness in you,

      over there, by the temple-firn,

      ceases to bloom now, with fool’s

      bells on each

      sepal.

      * * *

      THE HEARTSCRIPTCRUMBLED vision-isle

      at midnight, in feeble

      ignition key glimmer.

      There are too many

      goalcrazed powers

      even in this

      seemingly starstudded

      highair.

      The longed for freemile

      crashes into us.

      * * *

      UNKEPT.

      Dreamed aslant, joined.

      The oil around—

      thickened.

      With bulging thoughts

      pain busies itself.

      Mourning, gone awry.

      Melancholy, put up with anew,

      finds its level.

      * * *

      THE UNCONDITIONAL CHIMING

      behind the masticated tristesse.

      Guiding rods, compact,

      in the time-blackened emblem.

      Frostfurrows along

      the motto.

      All that in the

      birthmark’s half-light.

      * * *

      ETERNITY ages: in

      Cerveteri the

      asphodels

      question each other white.

      With mumbling ladle,

      from the deads’ cauldrons,

      o’er the stone, o’er the stone,

      they spoon soups

      into all the beds

      and camps.

      * * *

      LATE. A spongy fetish

      bites off the cones of the Christmas tree,

      roughened up by

      frostsayings

      a wish bobs after them,

      the window flies open, we’re outside,

      unplaneable,

      the lump Being,

      a nose-heavy,

      depth-enjoying cloud

      chauffeurs us even over

      that.

      * * *

      THE SEEDLINGS—causa secunda—lease

      the overcertain

      pupil-enslaved

      nothing,

      which still skirts your—why

      only?—even still today up-

      twitching brow,

      when I look at it, for the

      sake of the maybe

      still to be given

      eye-oath below it.

      * * *

      ALONG THE HILL LINES

      the pretty torture racks between

      treeling and treeling,

      honeysuckled in,

      Dumdum horizons, before them,

      milliplied, yes,

      your

      Hear-Silver,

      spinet,

      daynight full of whirring lungs,

      the

      disbranched archangels stand

      guard here.

      * * *

      COME, we’re ladling

      nerve cells

      —the duck’s porridge, multipolar,

      of the light-emptied ponds—

      from the

      rhomboid

      fossas.

      Ten tendons draw forth

      half-recognizables

      from the still reachable centers.

      * * *

      DESLAGGED, deslagged.

      If we were knives now,

      unsheathed like back then

      in the pergola in Paris, the time of an eye-ember,

      the arctic bull

      would leap in

      would crown his horns with us

      would thrust, would thrust.

      * * *

      SOULBLIND, behind the ashes,

      in the holy-meaningless word,

      the disrhymed comes walking,

      his cerebral mantle draped lightly over the shoulders,

      the ear canal irradiated

      with reticulated vowels,

      he deconstructs the visual purple,

      reconstructs it.

      * * *

      BORDERESS: night.

      Vigorous dwarf- and giant-growth, de-

      pending on the cut in the fingertip,

      on what

      emerges from it.

      Too many-eyed at times,

      when, biconcavely,

      a thought adds its drop,

      not from her.

      * * *

      GULLCHICKS, silvery,

      beg the adult bird:

      the red spot on the lower

      beak, which is yellow.

      Black—a decoy

      head demonstrates it for you—

      was a stronger stimulus. Blue also

      works, but it is not

      the color stimulus that does it:

      it has to be a

      stimulus-figure, a whole,

      completely

      configured,

      a pregiven inheritance.

      . . . . . . . . . . . .

      Friend,

      you tardrenched sackracer,

      here also, on this

      shore, you go down

      both time and eternity’s

      wrong

      pipe.

      * * *

      IV

      IRISH

      Give me the right of way

      across the grain ladder into your sleep,

      the right of way

      across the sleep trail,

      the right, for me to cut peat

      along the heart’s hillside,

      tomorrow.

      * * *

      THE ROPES, salt-water-clammy:

      the white

      topknot—this time

      it does not come undone.

      On the seagrass chute next to it,

      in anchor’s shadow,

      a name teases the

      untwinned

      riddle.

      * * *

      DEW. And I lay with you, thee, in the rubble,

      a mushy moon

      pelted us with answer,

      we crumbled apart

      we brittled back together:

      the Lord broke the bread,

      the bread broke the Lord.

      * * *

      LAVISH MESSAGE

      in a crypt, where

      we flap with

      our gasflags,

      we stand here

      in the odor

      of sanctity, yep.

      Singed

      vapor waves of the beyond

      thickly drift from our pores,

      in each second

      tooth-

      cavity an un-

      destructable hymn wakes up.

      The clump of twilight you throw down to us,

      come, swallow it too down.

      * * *

      THIS DAY, rolled out:

      the many-thousand-years-old dough

      for the later

      hunic flat cake,

      a just-as-old

      jaw, somewhat oozy,

      commemorates all early times,

      and bares its teeth against them and itself,

      hoof-

      beats of the protoanimal to the

      yeast-arioso:

      it goes, flat-cake beautiful singable growth,

      still and always upward,

      a shadow-

      less spirit, dis-

      lonelied, an

      immortal,

      shivers

      blissfully.

      * * *

      OILY still

      the die’s One swims

      between brow and brow,

      stops here,

      lidless, follows

      your gaze.

      * * *

      YOU WITH THE

      in the darkglass gazed at,

      you One

      with the beheld

      substanceless light-mirror-surface innermost:

      through the ten-


      towered desert gate your

      messenger-self steps before you, stands,

      for the length of a trivowel,

      in the high

      redness,

      as if the people in the distances

      were once again gathered around you.

      * * *

      OUT OF ANGEL-MATTER, on the day

      of the ensouling, phallically

      united in the One

      —He, the Enlivening-Just, slept you toward me,

      sister—, upward

      streaming through the channels, up

      into the rootcrown:

      parted

      she hoists us up, equal-eternal,

      with standing brain, a bolt of lightning

      sews our skulls aright, the pans

      and all

      the still-to-be-dissemened bones:

      strewn from the East, to be harvested in the West: equal-eternal—,

      where this script burns, after the

      threequarter-death, before

      the rolling around remainder-

      soul, which

      writhes in crownfear,

      since ur-ever.

      * * *

      THE FREE-BLOWN LIGHTCROP

      in the under worldblood

      standing furrows.

      A hand with the shimmer of the urlight

      poaches beyond

      the ferny dams:

      as if there still starved

      any stomach,

      as if there fluttered

      any still-to-be-

      fertilized eye.

      * * *

      LINE THE WORDCAVES

      with panther skins,

      widen them, hide-to and hide-fro,

      sense-hither and sense-thither,

      give them courtyards, chambers, drop doors

      and wildnesses, parietal,

      and listen for their second

      and each time second and second

      tone.

      * * *

      THE HIGHWORLD—lost, the delusion-ride, the day-ride.

      Ascertainable, from here on out,

      the with the rose in the fallow year

      home-sensed Nowhere.

      * * *

      THE MUTTERING

      arms-

      passes.

      On the leaped over

      step

      the deathdoodads

      diddle.

      * * *

      … THOUGH NO KIND OF

      peace.

      Graynights, preconscious-cool.

      Stimuli-quanta, otterlike,

      over consciousness-gravel

      on the way to

      memory-vesicles.

      The grisaille of matter.

      A halfpain, a second, without

      permanent trace, halfway

      here. A halfpleasure.

      The moved. The cathexed.

      Repetition-compulsion-

      monochrome.

      * * *

      NEAR, IN THE AORTIC ARCH,

      in the light-blood:

      the light-word.

      Mother Rachel

      weeps no more.

      Carried over:

      all the weepings.

      Quiet, in the coronary arteries,

      unconstricted:

      Ziv, that light.

      * * *

      THROW THE SOLAR YEAR, to which you cling,

      over the heart railings

      and row to, starve yourself away, copulating:

      two germ cells, two metazoons,

      that’s what you were,

      the inanimate, the homeland,

      now requests return—:

      later, who knows,

      one of you two, transformed,

      may reemerge,

      a slipper animalcule,

      ciliated,

      in the shield.

      * * *

      BECAUSE YOU FOUND THE WOE-SHARD

      in the deserted settlement,

      the shadow-centuries relax by your side

      and hear you think:

      Maybe it is true

      that here peace debated two peoples,

      from clay pots.

      * * *

      IT HAS COME THE TIME:

      The brainsickle, unsheathed,

      lounges in the sky,

      rumbled by gallstars,

      the antimagnets, the rulers,

      sound off.

      * * *

      LIPS, ERECTILE-TISSUE of the You-night:

      Hairpincurve-glances are climbing up,

      making out the commissure,

      sew themselves fast here—:

      No admittance! Blacktoll.

      There should still be glowworms.

      * * *

      V

      PRINCIPALITIES, POWERS.

      Back of them, in the bamboo:

      yelping lepra, symphonic.

      Vincent’s offered

      ear

      has reached its goal.

      * * *

      DAYBOMBARDMENT: the

      light-permeable thorn-

      temple

      grabs just one

      more dewfresh

      darkness.

      At the heart’s apex a

      musclefiber comes

      musing to death.

      * * *

      SPEECHWALLS, space inward—

      spooled in upon yourself,

      you holler yourself through all the way to the lastwall.

      The fogs are burning.

      The heat hangs itself inside you.

      * * *

      ORPHANED in the stormtrough

      the four ells of earth,

      shadowed in, the heavenly

      writer’s archives,

      moored in, Michael

      mired in, Gabriel

      fermented in the stone lightning,

      the share.

      * * *

      OF BOTH: the de-scarred bodies,

      of both: the deathleaf over their nakedness,

      of both: the de-realized faces.

      Pulled onto land by

      the whitest root

      of the whitest

      tree.

      * * *

      ROLLED-AWAY incest-stone.

      An eye, cut from

      the doctor’s kidney,

      reads in Hippocrates’s stead

      the perjured oath’s makeup.

      Explosions, sleepbombs, goldgas.

      I swim, I swim

      * * *

      AS COLORS, piled up,

      the beings return, evenings, clamorously,

      a quartermonsoon

      without sleeping place,

      a patterprayer

      before the ignited

      lidlessnesses.

      * * *

      THE CHIMNEY SWALLOW stood at the zenith, the arrow-

      sister,

      the One of the air-clock

      flew toward the hour hand,

      deep into the chiming,

      the shark

      spat out the living Inca,

      it was conquest-time

      in Manland,

      everything

      went about,

      unsealed like us.

      * * *

      WHITE, white, white

      like lattice whitewash

      the laws fall into line

      and march

      inward.

      * * *

      BARE ONE. Udderly

      chest-thumping you.

      Your funk wafted,

      in the face of all.

      No one’s

      breath regrowths, un-

      redressable one.

      The stonecap-king up front

      falls from the stone donkey’s rump,

      clammy hands

      over the tit-lashed

      face.

      * * *

      THE SILENCE-BUTT against you,

      the silence-butts.

      Coastlike

      you survive yourself

      in time’s transshipment ports,

      in paired paths’ nearness,

      where the pinheaded ice-crew

     
    beheavens the stockrooms.

      * * *

      HAUT MAL

      Unexpiated,

      narcoleptic,

      stained by the gods:

      your tongue is smutty,

      your urine black,

      watery-bilious your stool,

      you hold forth,

      as I do,

      lubriciously,

      you put one foot before the other,

      put one hand on the other,

      cuddle up in goatfur,

      you hallow

      my member.

      * * *

      THE PIGEON-EGG-SIZE GROWTH

      on the nape:

      a thoughtgame,

     


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