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They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles
Of forest night had hid eternal things,            
They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles    
To make a city for their revellings.                
                                                                
White and amazing to the lands around              
That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose;    
Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned                
With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.          
                                                                
And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,    
While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains;  
Never a voice of elder marvels sang,                
Nor any eye called up the hills and plains.        
                                                                
Thus down the years, till on one purple night      
A drunken minstrel in his careless verse            
Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,
And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse.        
                                                                
Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;    
So on the spot where that proud city stood,        
The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed,      
But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
 Nov 2012 Kyle Kulseth
Lucy Tonic
I asked Satan for divorce
He said, “Alright, of course,
But you’re still swimming
In waters lukewarm and shallow.”
Here I thought I was hallowed
But I’m wrestling something nameless
I want it to be solid
His name is full of consonants
But I feel the vowels are valid
In His world it’s black or white
Night or day, light or dark
I ponder which one I am
As I count the ripples on tree bark
How long is my shelf life
How far can I travel safely
How much more can I take
Will I ever find my place
Butterflies into bombers
We must get back to the garden
Bombers into butterflies
We must get back to the garden
 Nov 2012 Kyle Kulseth
Lucy Tonic
Alcoholic writer is a brand
But is worthy of monuments
Schizophrenic mind, neurotic head
Pull out the monsters from under the bed
And give them a home in your story

You’ve got to feel it in your bones
Said the artist of integrity
They ***** a crucifix, they dig your grave
Later they’ll analyze how you behaved
And build you temples of worship

No one wants to be a fossil
In the backwoods of one’s own skull
In a world that pushes you away
Then in death embraces your way-
That kind of imitation is not flattery

So support your fellow man
While he’s still kicking
Buy him a drink
Ask him to think
And get his autograph on a ***-soaked napkin
 Nov 2012 Kyle Kulseth
Olympia
And in the whitest dark I
Ask for only that
To keep
Me there, for just the span of
Your snowglobe smile
That aftershock nightlight in the
Afternoon heat
Wait for me there
With your bayonet heart
Hands
Shoulders
Beneath the powerline
Wire, asleep but for me
Awake but for
The rest
And doze after
Half-light dreams and
Headrush spotlights that
Blur and
Mar my
Little love frame
Bright night air, fill
Every niche
Till whole is all
And all is this
 Nov 2012 Kyle Kulseth
Olympia
Silver-sided thursday
Late morning, not quite
Afternoon
The steady scent of spring's flowers, dutifully
Blossoming
Obscenely in the cold
The cold wet around my ankles
Dragged up from the ground
Frail next to the bark of
Tuesday's tree
Stark brick building
My mother's morning tea
The shadow of a crucifix
Blocking the sun from my
Chameleon eyes
The time between texts
A deep inhale and a harsh white in knuckles
Replacing the rosy pink of
Moments ago
Yes, but
Well...
Another mile won't make me
Stronger
When I already emptied
My pockets for you...
And how my small change made you smile!
Remembering,
My smile
Opening me up
Like an old wound
The crows are at my throat
A shadow snatched me in a dream
The thought is eerier than it seems
I knew it crouched in wait for me
And yet I ventured out to see
I thought I might be safe this time
My luck ran out, it made the climb
From down the stairs where it does dwell
It’s solid form caused my lungs to swell
Dark hands reached out and gripped my own
A chilling hold down to my bones
When my mind was just about to break
My body ******, I was awake.
I woke up from this dream and had to write it down.
 Nov 2012 Kyle Kulseth
Olympia
Turn your dapple gray diffuse light daydream
Towards the flashlight painted cloudscape I have made for you
And before the drafted owl coos I have collected in bottles and hung from this tree
For you
I have walked through fine winged butterflies and soft twilit moss
Over sun scorched sand and in the relief of white noise water
Which
Like the circle of your arms
Tucks my dark away in the bottom of some drawer
That we may find and laugh over through our old eyes wrinkled with years of delight
Our home is walking through a stream
Steps slowed in the thickness of water
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