they had to exorcise it--that thing in the air, that thing in the water.
earth, then something other--that's how
it happened.
not the dance instruction of a tarantula to sweat out venom, but by the lived
eschatology of medievals.
worked off in mass dances (tarantism)--
till exhaustion/death.
as if they were the herd of swine that
evil spirits were cast into.
the Gadarene demoniac which Jesus
eighty sixed, caught sniffing around tombs, en route the left-hand path.
bells rung by flies, leeches bled out the: I, flames ran up the: I--heresy!
blood/yellow bile/black bile/phlegm--
the slop bucket fluids of: The Four Humours.
corresponding to the four dispositions, the four ages, the four elements--a feast
of fools attempting to psych-out wodnesse.
as medievals finger-pointed in their sleep, exacerbating toothless drool while
giving over a name.
smoky villages trampled with commotion, then nothing--closed doors taking on a
life of their own.
peace like a frozen juggler, beside a breathless flutist, you could trip over prayer only to look up at an inquisitor.

cold is the most seasonal--the only

condition of: The Alone.

its savage independence blisters with

maturity, assures a begrudging respect

& admiration.

it's the embodiment of nothing but

what is not.

where the senses are taken one by one,

as with the last to go--you can hear white.

its solitude is hand-picked by what

cannot withstand it.

nothing else smells so fresh as it touches

your bones.

torn pigeon wings mashed on a sidewalk,

loath to square a foot.

clarity stunned to drifting, a pale blue

blotch of sky--evening's vignette.

the smoky mouth of a panting wolf, snaps

closed with a lick & a sigh.

the moon ails under an aggressive form

of illusion, smiles bravely for a slow

shutter lens.

as a moment says: I am in a clock, but not

of it.

these last leaves do something to keep

falling, even after they come down.

it'd be ridiculous to envision the outward

appearance of oneself thinking, only to

be lost in a lack of resemblance.

when the writing of poetry occurs--

i'm occasionally a spectral robe on a hanger,

hooked on to air.

i get wet across state lines & whisper the fall,

of the same system that will reproduce

different raindrops overnight into

tomorrow.

we're highly conversant, but its point of

contention is overnight into tomorrow.

it'd be ridiculous to envision itself while

raining, as well as our divergent paths.

only to be lost in a lack of resemblance.

mania's omphalos--drags around its
umbilical cord, like a gas pump.
while belting out the first emanation.
a circle's radius clamps shut, as a
wilderness picks at its navel.
black iron gates come down on clouds,
a blizzard accumulates a spiritual reality
far more physical.
even if you're barred entrance, there's no
such thing as waiting.
just a stuporous death by holiday--like
standing across a room expanding with
space.
to a foggy window wiped clear, revealing
past lives vivid as the partitioned
properties of neighbors.
a minotaur hopping fences--suddenly
pressed against the window.
as if covered by distance, not covering it.
straight from a snowy frieze, its circuits
of agon.

thin ice' palette, when dissolving

into water--is starlike.

the quaternary of a bed does the

same with a body.

a dreamless state can reflect

this, as the horizontal meets the

vertical--indelibly so.

even if stars aren't visible,

you're aware of them on some

level.

a lower plane is a higher plane,

to a lower plane.

just as a higher plane is a lower

plane, to a higher plane--etc, etc.

a hilltop bore its **** to locals, where
they come from flat to: "that".
confronted by vantage, familiar as their
own physique.
their feedback loop of disconnected
realities, locked in its grasses.
the signage of a leaf, connoting nyc parks,
Sheriff of Nottingham's badge.
produced before peripatetic schools of
philosophy.
sunset's prolusion to hypnotic suggestion,
took effect.
as if an infant walked more ***** than
royalty to his bedroom door.
opened it a crack, then quarter way.
where light of mind/sunlight/bedroom light,
assumed the quality of that early rising at
sunset.