my sword: what for⎯ K
my shield: what’s left⎯
because I’ve chewed your death
back and forth in my smile
and walked up and down in your dirt
Desquamation By Exhilation!
[because] where the photograph meets the burn
I’ve learned to revivify: plumbum to
plumbum, earth to
earth. O Pure Ponderous Lust! O Tower of Stone!
I shall rise and go to a grave-green lake,
[where] by parkfire
I’ll fix your blood to philosophical flowers
[What the Heresiarch Remembered about the Sun]
Because I’d taken it, under cover of darkness,
when it was not there I’d taken it
and placed it in a lovely ditch. The ditch
I’d built out of nothing, out of the picture of things⎯
I’d knelt down and blindly gashed the ground
as evening fell and the declensions of animals began.
A hum swept through the brighter leaves, hung awhile,
then broke against the deeper lawns.
Finally, or so it seemed, shadows
clotted beneath a lack of trees
until the shadows were the things themselves.