The dark garden darker still
illuminated ground
dazzling blind patches and pockmarked stones with twenty
volume
inscriptions


                 II.

Skin was first
perishable to the corrosive pumping heart

Cave endures

With sperm-dotted hands
he works quickly
heat in unfading stone
radiance that draws him back

Blocks in background
Superimposes his hard image: muscle and skin over
elderly stick figures


                 III.

Bold shapes break
down the relationship
between ground and ground
A good report makes the bones fat


                 IV.

The last apple
sweet and high
in the topmost branch


                 V.

Crow and cricket of conscience
keep a close eye on your vocabulary
Make sure no imposters creep
in


                 VI.

The books of the clerics
The discourse of the schools
The arguments of lawyers
The treatises of the scientists
The propositions of the mathematicians
sing that sing and talk that talk


                 VII.

One language cannot
photograph another
Words pose with
their jewelry of sound

A bulb flashes quick and bright
sparrows scatter


                       

The reel dreams in its metal
container/hard protective womb
The voluted projector (nervous jerky light) and
these breasts
two reels coiled snake-like in concentric
circles


                 IX.

the glow of skin
dimmed by dust
the genius on the cross


                 X.

Tiny snowflakes are falling
toward the ground
They seem to be rising
to the sky

Mystification is lightness

Feline silence


                 XI.

With hook he fishes out
mother tongue
from his glass of skim milk


                 XII.

Okay, I'm reloaded.


                 XIII.

Zeugma
outpost for roman relief
vanished wood
We have opened two villas
each with fifteen or twenty rooms
Many others wait
subdued
Have waited for us for over sixteen hundred years

When the water comes
it will be over


                 XIV.

The mirror trembles in unstable
hand
The seen struggles
moment to moment


                 XV.

I'll sing these songs on
contract on
condition
Lift your feet in four-stringed dance
If I make mistakes with your language
correct me


                 XVI.

Most noble lady
near to my heart, perfect in understanding
you bring forth these vulgar words
as the crop patrons the farmer
You, lady, are better
So long as modern use shall last
Born in wood but faithful I make one
request



                 XVII.

Behold,
I put myself on display
for all the world to see
My brow to earth (terra firma)
My ass to heaven
like an islamic supplicant
Greasy flowers sprout
from the vase of my anus