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Called to take up against the mission of Noah

Again, the blackbird doesn’t do much, stay long

But gets out

We’re most perishable in arched, delicate passes

Pointillist peaks splintered by casinos and muscat

His skin, shot-through silk

In a mushpit of blinded windows, cut sun

We want what Hölderlin first expressed

Annexed to an attempt, some alliance with visible

Death to defame the invisible one

I can’t say what I’m doing with all this will

Waves hover and balloon, heat tunnels road

A sense of vigor then confusion to the mustard plants

It’s easy to be the daughter of a terrible man

Leaving the velour air our breath weaves through

His plea—stash a smoke in that hospital drawer

A baby owl’s fettered wingspan in headlights' and hand’s grasp

Sails the windshield’s breadth

We mentioned roadside bulls near Palmetto

Where silence portends

That hotel’s fraught-open doors and tossed rooms

But against the storm gray trees are naïve

Barely visiting landscape

A ripe place for habit coming into or going out of focus
Posted 06/26/12
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