“into the high chaparral”

“Syntax is never what you thought it was; just when you think you’ve got it down, it bolts out of the corral into the high chaparral. The job of poetry is not to get syntax back in the corral but to follow its wild journey into the unclaimed.”

Charles Bernstein from Recalculating

QUOTE, draft 100520131220

unlicked filth on bentbranch fingers
               & a chemical thin residue

lean waits to be pleased
across his mottled brow
               & thensudden cheekbone spikes

no gleam. despite his mottling hair

a swamp alive
               & long ago wet precious &
                    fragile
                    as a cradle

unprintable man
loved at impossible distance and when
               & when
wise brown eyes close
               & back turns
into every crack
memories like steam rise.