Four Poems

His face


Shone
At dusk
So odd

             Yet

             So pleasing

A stone—



Then
His skull

            Was inhabited

            Lightly

Such colors 
Were called
To my tiny

           Own

           Head

Was at ease.
I was more
Than what

            Kept me
 
            Myself

In the dread
Fourth World
 




A hundred parts of
You



Inside
The Gold Apartment



You
Lock the door

A piece
Of wire in hand

You like
Your habits then



You dream
Of marching

Up the hill
And down

Again and
Fingers pointing



Now

A hundred parts of
You



One
A lily

One
A rose

And so on
 




Who Malingers


Cannot go on

*

Remembers:

While burning

A topcoat
The taste

Of perpetual

Folly

*

Finally, wakes—
In the arms of

Who claims

To be wholesome

Is

To be criminal
 




Out of a vacuum & into the world


I.


Into heavenly

Structure – the heart – there



Everything matters



II.


At a feast

Of beautiful feelings



You learn

The other must serve you



III.

 


And suffer

You suffer


Yourself to observe