dark inwoven vision seeking clear,
   pure — smiths a dagger.

when you told me
some are the abeyant,
  in that terse communal,
some out
   of print

     Radio
Body English
    Silent Radio's
writing of an english
   Body cursive and lithe

i arranged all things:
TV, escritoire, left a place for
   a machine, drone of minutes
and the fixed gore of absence
  all wounds avulse, words
to wring realm of bones.

image of men is no huddled God
  in the synagogue pew;
this is the distinct cadence of
  the indescribably beautiful:
when words continue to bleed
they will never go out of print
and they will mint something in the soul
without a word, or a gesture,
   or an insignia of attendance.
their benign  dreams   prowl
    upstream,

     your dreams,
i willingly go, rising, falling
   riding all the darkness.