the Morning Plays

We Responsible Selves rear
a-laughter faute de mieux for want

Of better days the Sun
its face of feuilles

our aisle of eyes
breathes a bitter niche

bel respiro 

for to give yes this violent physics
the elbow brings the body abrought 

studies in a sleeping-with

this morn

the nile (not
just limbs)

washes One Just
Limb across

me en dessous your
arm longue longing sleeping

an octave’s armspan

***

we created an elderly sun
made dull his eyelids

only to wake him worn
to a rustic, ancient morning

the contre-jour pouts
with a stroke of his eye 

crowns your brow brilliant 

*** 

once i’d held (with hands gingerly
a fine ol’ sunbeam

laid it against your breathing little
dust-words in the light

(see it break hemming 
the ends of your hair)

then i’d gathered a yawn
we say good morning puzzle!

for wakefulness only Monet strokes
an inkling on this solemn tongue

madam mother
handsome in smile fore

cast a child-I
study this known printing

madam mother avant around
labored of knowned late

so speech child acknowls only
admit of numbers abodied

mdm mother her going pacing
faces a-rounded instrument living

last night the shuddering late
lune acrossed the table ran

a lune creasing bleak 
smiles a lengthened weight 

when I-to, thine

when I-to, thine,

dearest touchest arms breach
drivest mine unsightly reach

thine, with true scorn singly
handedly wilt herein openly

handest (within-wanting), thou 
yearnst without-wanting avow

thine treadest a-willingest whilst
mine warmer waters waitst

in thy every step hath
sorroweth thine soles sewn 



 

In rêve I seem (I am), real-to
yearned having, without either having.

Added or subtracted from all-le-monde, Known.

for these are not they, and God, bigger
than what I was raised on

lent a sonnet of bones.

To the I, built on a lack (herein)
Anothers’ Vue allplentying, emptying—

(if Love is-a receiving the eyes)

The rêverie runs dry.
Unmovement holds it fast by its seams.

dining across the world’s ugliest man

the rat-beer swirls
a fat amber candle
leads way a glutton bubble
slicking down his mouth
If you join this chatter-pop
the rat-fritters smell jesus you’ll never
looked this bottomed any wife
from a clothesline, any wife
scuffling up your sleeve oh dearie won’t
you lean this bouquet seldom