742
les
mots sous les mots
bury the eye in heavens above
bark till the tree runs up
bill the bird for beak in
scratch
stim trumps twitch every time
(there are lots)
make the bastards want to read
and burn to blur
waft off
this senseless waste of charcoal
a little obliteration goes a long long way
or possibly that is the title
et sous les mots, les mots
it's out of the good woodwork
among the shapes
as heaven arrays
everything recycled
who'll choose
and who'll be chosen
democracy kicks in
pointed
as of the one mind
now unmade
no mark without direction, depth
no safe distance from a self
but definition in the shadows
a grade from whim through
convenient materials
grey pants
and rub till the thing stands up
go too far
go further
fall off and climb back up
a senseless waste of charcoal
before the flames commit
this is not the way in
see only through a little slit
registration of another
world
no, season
body
shape
the city whole
un-garden
it overbalances
where we tip out
every house is of its gods
it has to be light lets in
the aphorist will wink
we see
tap of the day
machine takes all in
work is the thing in progress
exhaust fumes come from here
go right through the paper
to the other place
all fucked up
could be a way of life
go too far
go further
fall off and climb back up
the art lecture
is all words too many
every house is of its gods
the wrapped thing
the underthing
the unknown
the buried
why does a thing deserve to be painted?
is there an eloquence in likeness?
each mark demands its own belief
one needs constantly to sharpen
if so returns diminish by law
pencil so
and then a city stands
an empire timbers out of frame
et sous les images, les mots
et sous les mots, images
there was a language there
let that begin my doubt
things inaccessible themselves
world other of the any mark
paint parties out
how dark the bright world corners them
you'll have this view of night
for things can't be reached
shall we draw a stepladder?
like diners
we gather to listen
sometimes look
and there's nothing there
you'll kindly picture that
there are no calories in this
a body cannot consist of pictures
faster than the work they come to
so live in the time beyond
it's an art to make
this standing
from the moment
rude presence
never lets us by
where hours and years have come to sit
though none look up
you smell the rain before it comes
and rally to the battlements
as with the other ants
every house is of its gods
it has to be light lets us in
nothing to see here
wherever you are
come out
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