No Treasures Could Talk

Wikipedia Poem, No. 468

w468-sm

“No treasures could talk the man who happily / breaks hard lumps of earth with his hoe on the family farm / into plowing the Myrtoan Sea, a shivering sailor.” Horace

After Horace

dear turn    satyrs into a farm     into plowing dust    olympic
chariots of the romans another man's    joy is to hold
soldier's life its camp theater    there he    was born
soon    he was born within sight of the camp    that's life
another's life    but among their blazing burst hills
with thrill the soldier's grain from    under a cup
the light-stepping hunter    stays not above the cup of light
but with the highest master    i am that farm    plowing nymphs
and a deer    scared by the    surety of youth    i was young when
the public's whim the day's occupation something thought about 
in a shady woods among blazing soldiers    turn    
and dear forget the sound of africa    no treasures there
just a town of ivy    it makes me    her flute and waves
sing dust    on olympic chariots    when

wikipedia poem, no. 27

centcom

   a 
stubborn 
lock stops itself from 
laughing
      all just carry me
      Have some pride 
         of the cruel
   an addict  
licks the whoring 
         bed 
to die  metaphor is too easy
       but a finish weapon
I  stubborn  lock myself 
from 
the person 
to medicine like 
       a 
stubborn lock stops itself 
from laughing
      the metaphor is too 
easy  finish weapon
       I stubborn lock myself from the 
     idea 
    of 
shadows
impossible to predict  lick the 
metaphor 
easy 
          finish 
weapon
     studied medicine  
licks the 
  person to predict 
  a stubborn lock 
itself now laughing
whoring  I’m trapped
basically 
we’re all just carrying me
peeking or (peaking?) I’m 
trapped
basically.