Monday, June 18, 2018

Kit Kelen #900 - in a wilderness corner

in a wilderness corner

keeps like a question
where no self is said

where the moon was set
where fell some sleeping star

winter is
no hand by it

all muted for a first sun webbed

and paws under
was once a world
now an edge



pink of
like a rising or set
it's never everyone sleeping

here are the ones you haven't met

some settled, lie in wait
and you could prime yourself
set to

it all works up to a silence
never lasts for long


some little wings
come out of it

you listen for the gods are in

far as I am
all accidents too

every other planet's like that
how otherwise?
but breathless bare

there isn't a picture I can show
best thing about the place is


in a wilderness corner

hear trickle towards
the claws that catch
no moral to

gods are listening in
they flew
that's where we won't know

no tune
though we imagine past

even in my own last acre
that's an age before

some star fell sleeping over us

when I am ash
I am not


the cenotaph lives
you won't find yourself

it's here the unknown
about their business
sacred this far

now then to light

turn to stone
torn apart

it's all you can do to imagine


and some fell sleeping here
ill starred
but that's the way

no graph chart could predict

you won't know the creatures there
isn't a market at all

some fell star slept through
all exploding
does nothing here but burn


in a wilderness corner
won't find me

creep sun

secret to itself unworded
where did this go that?

like a draft
for instance moss much
instance rain

I have one of these in mind
and out of it at times

in the body also
likewise there's between
this unshorn idea

wrestle for it
tickle too

we won for ourselves
for our flag

a wilderness of wishes

none of this requires belief
or presence, absence, definition
but just because you're picturing


we won't be understood

amorphous stream, inchoate

are you with me?
let's not be seen

in conversation
such a place
and taken the wrong way

rain's let
and no machine shouts

in a poem could be prose

often I've come close to it

best thing about it all though is


and they will be as smoke through the trees
the neighbours -- feats of engineering

breath yet
that we know of

steam rises from

vanish at that point your closest

(plus ultra white pirate
whore me a world)

look up
and if you look away
you can see more clearly

this is my business here

still roaring of the not-got-away truck

and here's the pipe and tail
all followed in a train
of mists and lovely in tress vestige
gossamer cling
diaphanous to be

and someone is singing
someone is dancing
it isn't me
and it isn't you
it isn't us
in there


  1. don't paint yourself
    out of the picture
    someone is you

  2. 900 steps to the mountain top
    the view in each one
    has it's won zenith


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