MODERN WEEDS
All humans are
marvelous, themselves objects—
Move back and forth
between them
Along crowded hallways, along
coasts
Brush hands
lightly
Don’t worry
about silence
Continuous activity,
all our fine blooms
Submerged, carried
away—
Nurses, clipboards,
flowers
Reality drunk on the
scent
~
Like the asters, I
bloom
irrationally
My arguments are late,
my summers
unsound
I’ll try something
else—
Occupying the world in
a way
That surprises, but
also
Seems to come from
opportunistic
displays
Of blue and pink
horses
Stubborn naiveté
~
Convenience, a
terminal rose
Split open, is
attractive, but proves
Nothing—I prefer
you, fireweed:
Rose-purple, striking,
apparently
Disturbed—but
beauty—
None of its elements
has any sense
The beautiful
astronomy
Can stop
Nothing
leaves me broken
Like the memory of you
breaking
Your skin
open
Yet to abandon the
image—
Would I be blinded
by such
~
Somersault toward
The pale meadow
I mean, away
from the ditch
Break from the musk
mallow’s
prejudice—
Knowledge is intricate
confidence, dishes
Nested
on the lawn
Belief is the
heart-shaped
Blade in the
garden—
~
Presence is here
The point I want to
make
Traverses the
repetition
of the theme—
Your touch was
a healing tonic
But aggressive—I
prefer
Shade and mint, eggs, warm
oats
Blue vervain’s
dense flowers
Force us to remember
The blue-violet tone
in lovers’ speech—
Movement that renews
~
I have failed in
extending
This flow, this
cascade
A dog’s coiled tongue,
blueweed
Growing by the highway
near
the turnoff
Bright yellow fiddlenecks, disturbed
I have lied, I have
not
Been speaking, I have
not
Been able, I have
simply
Talked as if there
were
a domain
One could relate to by
some sort
Of referential
gasp—
Impressive
buildings
Do you love me?
Largest hospital in
the state
The campus stretches
a year
It is no use, the
past—
Make me alive
again
~
I shouldn’t be
surprised
Short hours, all the
objects
exact—
Styrofoam, coffee,
electrodes, rent
Sky-blue teeth of
chicory petals
Divinities in the
waiting room, pay attention
Perhaps be cured
Build a flock of wood
pigeons
~
Nightingales and
frogs, enter the ward
Yellow star-thistle,
settle invisible disputes
Ivory skeleton, deal
with internalized hate
Neither science nor
religion is fitting
Love, attractive
centaur, follow me now
Into Oregon,
Washington, California
Say again: here, alive
Not to designate, but
to speak
TYPO 29
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