name would give this sweetness

name would
give this sweetness
i don’t know, but
it is worthy to be
praised my word what a boisterous
sleep i have

to be sure there is
no remedy for past
sorrow it remains
with me forever
i would not part
with my soft sorrow
for all the joy that
lies in world’s
unknown vapors crash
throughout these
phantasies and madnesses
and self-made-self
which wanders mightily
questions questions
questions and all
my word-hoard lies useless in its vault
the sparkling
dewdrop painted heaven
so the nighttime
revels dance their stardust moonbeam
spirals in the
sea shore
once when i was
small & the seaside
shone with life and
bright odors of salt
and sea came bringing
all my sandy wishes
home scuttling crabs
and flopping fish have
become my seashore

time was we’d had
some sorrows lodged
in mind but grief
resolved itself into
something not
quite known before
how to say it? what
in nightly dreams
has made its leave
within my mind
what face a
bird-free sky
parlor games charlatan tricks soup?on of
a garrulous
medicine man
don’t drink the water

neither swim in it
nor bathe or dusk
your flanks in the
dusky dirt
but do wrap up your
sighs in boxes packed
away in livid orange
u-haul trucks store
them away all winter
but beware do not
raise the door too
mouldering winterlong in dust and shadow (darkness?) deep secrets have
been growing secrets deep enough & dark enow to burst your heartstrings
as you like on the backs of water- starved fish dry ribs heaving
in the sun por qua, my dour cockle-shell? your dainty bounties are
withering in the wind wipe those quiet tears from off your back—we
have no room for excess baggage (luggage?) piecing together the witnesses
to all the wilted gold in all the windy treasure boxes of the world
i’m sorry there’s nothing more to say when all the birds on earth
are dead try as i might i cannot summon up the courage to whipping
wild fish into fashion while whispering sweet nothings into the
lips of a crocus there is a splendour lurking in the bower eaves
don’t mistake it for malice or a lurking partisan brimful with arrogrance
and spite (despite?) all these paragons are wallowing in their own
fortitude drowning in their own virtue beware the sneaking suspicion
that you are right write down yr. whiskered breaths upon the windowpane
cracked though it is with spiderwebs and time discussing fine wine

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