Tag Archives: saints

Frogin the Water Tank Blues

5 Jul

A full minute.
You could really
have a fineday made
out of the sweetest
saints.

Get up there quickly.
Your spirit is rather
a spirit of catfish
names and appearances-
just as days and weeks
are.

Then there is the
number of the rotating
compensasting questions.
How do you?
Do what?
Are they even?

White with fury you may
become when such a thing
was put on, and you have
not heard the last stone of
that science which is
built up slowly
about each other
each other about.
I had a rope, and
you had a stump.

The answers are needed
right now- a note- or
notes at intervals.
I knew how it was done.
Did you?

Like they do in Boomer flats?
In a little while it died.
Up with a thing, and
down with another thing.

“The effects?”
she said out of her curly
hair.

Who knows?
I don’t-
do you?

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Strangers Smile at Stones Like Setting Suns

4 Jun

Flowers, those strange
and often dead friends
of spring
and romance
looked out from whatever
balconies nature
might provide onto
so many emerald valleys
thoughts slung
out into the woods
then tripping downward
in seclusion.

Hearts as light as
his oaken name
which seemed deepened
by his father’s passing.
His broken words echoed
in that instant. Hearing
them as if in sleep
lumbering. His mind ceased
swiftly at her demand as she
ascended the interior corridors,
so slowly the impression
she left reminded
him of which walls
could chain him.

He thought of her love
as priceless
therefore the guardians
never slept on their watch.
She closed the largest of
her little fingers around his
heart and with an unknown
smile given she seemed
to beckon with a rustle
as he was hanging secretly
in a resting-place.

It had been a killing thing,
surprised ruinous
generations lost in
those marble sheets.

A stranger remembered
and smiled at the stones
which he misunderstood,
and took for an ominous
sign.  Something at a turn
in the passage ahead
looked upward.
He turned and looked
over his shoulder
noiselessly,
all the sounds were empty.

She knew the many calculations
of the knife,
its full blade about
to be stepped
up from the point.

Out in the hallway walked swords.
Her eyelashes had mastered every
meaning, and none suspected a
war was going on below them.
A simple study of storms and
seven hats
turned to dust and
forming, a village of strangers
and smiling Saints which would be
made smooth by the centuries.