Augur of Authenticity


In the fallen spring I switchback among hanging forests await
                                                                            messages from silent lars waived

phallically from our home   needle me insufficient   accurate   yet
I bleed a deeper garnet than he
who makes words from numbers   & how silent is the betrayed

voice turned into a sibyl keep   an orphic fail.

O how I sorrow & so sorrow for your body under

 grotesque bones   the godless home   enclave of emptiness.

                                                                            A fallow soil is embraced by a fool

 enamored of his domestic goddess mantled with a drugged stench of organic ignorance.

I buried my blood right through the soil
& clay still hangs on my heels like a mythic journey

& I stare down into the baseness where you will bury the server
& I sorrow in your service for the buried.

Among my hallowed pines I stand & beg you
read every numbered page of the covenant
& know each restriction you have biden.

 O dear you should know the difference between a redneck & a southern gentleman.




Uncle W. J. says         With the antebellum world removed to the realm of retrospect
the shackles of reality   as so often happens in such cases   fell away from it altogether
               Perpetually suspended in the great haze of memory   it hung as it were   poised
                    somewhere between earth and sky colossal   shining   & incomparable lovely

 & in the great haze of memory you are still sheltered under shadows

                                                                                        dorics   ionics   corinthians

 & you sit under the hanging limbs of my stately oaks & I am telling you my heart is

How I wish for you to comfort me in the hazed scents of wisteria                            
                                                                                                   royally-robed blood

blissful plummets of whatsoever   is   of tantivy
loss                                                      only yet   I decay   I sway from the true purpose

of  my loneliness   sojourn away   from a creaking sapling fallen in the fork of your vestal
                                                                            crying sorrowfully into silence a song

         that the longest life must shortly come to a close. Blessed be a world where sin   death  
               vanity   vexation cannot enter. Blessed be   that even death cannot part our truth.
           Those whom we most love   yea   even our own bodies    which we so love must soon
      become loathsome lumps of clays   & be buried out of sight. How loose then should we be
       to all earthly attachments and adornments! Let us seek rather that our souls be adorned.

 Softly hangs   from cursives you have embedded in my soul the cones utterly opened
                                                 to scatter winged seeds to the extreme heat of your soil.

So may the meter & mourning of lost love curse your radicle lack   as I am torn by grace
                                                                                                           denied to clay.

I pray & pray                                                                                                    & pray

the compulsions of bliss   instead of fulfilling   promise   infinitely settle   phlegmatically
   deep in your lungs   as a contemptuous mockery
of silence chosen   a eupatrid visage recedes

into a suburban darkness

all in a row & all in a row & all in a syncarpous row.

I remember laying rows across the rolling hills of my native south & how straight
                                                                                                     & far down they lay.
They were revered by a drunkard who held them as an illusion of great proofs.

But only cattle were held by my fences        as you will be held by your surfeit house.

Dear   dear bounding dreams   dear bounding dreams   I dreamt beyond every right
beyond my means
                                                                                                             beyond my soil
I passed light   careful not to tromp clods   where neither grass   nor shrub   nor tree
                                                                                                                      will grow
& still dust embeds into flesh until red

                                                                                     & you cosset as bark for a beetle
                                                                                         & you miss the spreading galax
                                                                                       & you are clear cut into granules

so plainly settled to out of the wayness.






Augur of Deluge



How I denied the gray coming   you conceded & we walked to the banks

to face peals of thunder   frogs welcomed us   boisterous voices appealing

to clouds to come   & the clouds rolled toward us   pushed breakers into cypress

stumps   gave charge to the sky   opened & poured down upon us.


How long we waited for the storm to pass   impatiently we pitched   how impatiently

we pitched   you seeking shelter from a long dryness & sudden rain

& I finding myself born to lay within the shelter of your bursting pockets of water & air

the constant humidity gathering on branch leaves   washing through hollows


& the fire did not come until late in the evening   until lightning bugs

wove among the sycamores   until our dog remembered its distant blood   gave chase

until sounds of crackling wood brought ease to its hunger   ease

to pursuits   daddy longlegs easing the ground through our night.


Shelter is a canvas hanging on two arching poles tied to the crossing point

as we too are tied to crossing points   yours    a bolt branching   mine

a pine savannah passed through as we pass through now

leaving deep prints   & laying here for this night in the damp of leaking seams.






Augur of Mortar



Even by erudition   we cannot bond our red clay   cannot shore our foundation

cannot dawn boards of peaceful regalia   so we flail

barrages of aggressive groundwater against our footings   & spalls of us fall

crumble in basement workshops   while splints of heart

pine lodged in our walls & plastered   breathe such grey days of old

into presents of excessive shards & loneliness   thin glass & feeble sunshine


& even by incision   we cannot bond our red clay   cannot lay tassels of sorrow

easily upon mantel bricks   daubed with our own flesh   so

we seduce doubt   & build up a wall with untempered mortar   & empty

wares settle with prepuce enmity until our void relucts

peace to reconcile   sand water & lime   within this swayed ledge

of disparate loves   bonding porous selves with little resistance to infiltration


so by consecration   we bond our red clay   cure by degrees in warm & humid

walls   weeping into habitations   barren & ward

as immaculate desires   refuge & cast humbly from a terminal dwelling

I am willing to entrust the entire order of mercy to.