Irkallas White Caves
I believe that a young
Is standing in a circle of
In the other side of the sky
In a little while I must carry her the
I believe that a young
Is standing in a circle of
In the other side of the sky
In a little while I must carry her the
A beast stands at my eye
I cook my senses in a dark fire
The old wombs rot and the new
Approaches with the footsteps of a world
Man-dirt and stomachs that the sea unloads; rockets of quick lice crawling inland, planting their damn flags, putting their malethings in any hole that will stand still, yapping bloody murder while they slice off each other’s heads, spewing themse...
That should be
Of course it
Any fool knows that
Even in the winter
We must be slow and delicate; return the policeman's stare with some esteem, remember this is not a shadow play of doves and geese but this is now the time to write it down, record the words— I mean we should have left some pride of youth and not ...
To leave the earth was my wish, and no will stayed my rising
Early, before sun had filled the roads with
Conveying folk to weddings and to murders;
Before men left their selves of sleep, to
Wherever the dead are there they are
Nothing more
But you and I can
To see angels in the meadowgrass that
Tiny green birds skate over the surface of the room
A naked girl prepares a basin with steaming water,
And in the corner away from the hearth, the red
Of an up-ended chariot slowly turn
Be music, night,
That her sleep may go Where angels have their pale tall choirs Be a hand, sea,
That her dreams may watch Thy guidesman touching the green flesh of the world Be a voice, sky,
That her beauties may be counted And the ...
The old guy put down his beer
Son, he said, (and a girl came over to the table where we were: asked us by Jack Christ to buy her a drink
) Son,
I am going to tell you something The like of which nobody was ever told
In the footsteps of the walking
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying
Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the
The deer is humble, lovely as God made her I watch her eyes and think of wonder owned These strange priests enter the cathedral of woods And seven Marys clean their hands to woo her Foot lifted, dagger-sharp—her ears Poised to their points like a ...