A Crisis of the Heart and a Crisis of the Soul

Wikipedia Poem, No. 886

the desert on hand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . near these lies who’s an antique ham who said—two vast and trunkless cold commandias king of kings the hand the decay of its sculptor well mocked colossal wreck bound trunkless and despair! at the estates at lanuvium nothing’s heard sneer of kings of stone trunkless things looks forward to dessert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . near these lifeless cold commands commodus who said two vast deserts? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . deserter near the decay of that sculptor’s cold command, who said bonespur—too vast to despair? fountainhead of the empire bank of nothings … look on these lies who’s even from an antique land anymore, big beautiful half sunkshattered visage king of sneerstone stand behold mock sculptor well of passions that sculptor cold commodias, king of stone stand desserted. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Too Late to Love You

Wikipedia Poem, No. 747

w747-sm-s

“They split the darkness / With their bare chests / They smell out their loves / Through the thick dew!” Okot p’Bitek

the grinding stone will be or had been
not much depends upon chrysoprase
i sense upon and then i am aware

there’s no time left
kennedy and oswald too
who are kennedy is oswald dead

who are you yourself considered
one inhabits a song or has tried
not much depends upon tense

if one inhabits a good song
a strong expensive song cooked
by a corporation or a factory (have been its gear)

i am no time
leap of perspective
the fish you fear and had tried to be

not much depends upon becoming or having tried
not much depends
invent the reader

before greedy cologne
taste tongue shell
i sense upon passion

i sense upon assassin
i fucked hamburgers
and i swear it sustenance came naturally

the thing glimmers
i swear it said my co-workers
were like a priceless song

when a poet can only push so far against the factory
of theory i eat my own said my co-workers
assassin the readers before cologne

a confused theory of hungry love
smell taste tongue i sense upon an onion they
sense upon far away grinding stone destroyer of newstype

i sense upon an assistant at the factory eating the falls
i sense upon the grinding stone and the gutter
the world no doubt

hands breadth its own
painful shelley
and you?

did you once see shelley plain
and did you pick up on the rest
move and never moor

with a name of its own and memory too
i started at my quaking feathers
and pick upon memory

so many blank miles
without a name of their own
did you once sense upon the new laughter?