here is a field

after H.D.

here is a field
and here there were people
which means charged space
in a void,
which means charged space
and steeplejacking
of some sort

here is a field
and here there was a field
which means echo sound
of echo feeling
and steeplejacking
of a natural sort

here is a field
and a glass of water
frozen on a stump
somewhere in that field
as a demonstration of method,
of indistinguishable mind,
and the glass waits
only to freeze to the stump,
to give the universe punctuation,
not a bad thing

lastly, here is a field
of vampires, of feeling
frozen on a stump
somewhere in that field
as a demonstration of passion,
a sort of Ark with funny animals
that even children somehow know,
troublesome animals
in the sense they must be loved
or at least amuleted

and that is the beginning of justice.


I used to be afraid
of my own rusted screens
the brown palms
of my hands on their overtime
like the hills
you swept them under

I cannot price
the molehill
of the language we use now
there is a bitterness
there is an equality
it is very much of these flowers

at least

the problem of the personality has been solved

It was solved not for x or y

but this golden field

this nubile cloud above it


Some soldiers in a torn field
knew one of their number
was about to be eaten
by a monstrous maw
The final lunch hour was here
and its Shadow
the simple death
(just to be swallowed up)
but then
its complicated Shadow
you must not study

They absorbed that dark bread
of the thought
of their going
its moist springiness
fear like water
in tendons
pumped them up like boys
in a game of kicking
in a field

The beast was here
It crossed over them
Its shadow painted their bodies
as flames made
their canines glow
It circled around, lowered
its horned head
unfurled a long tongue
but as it came on
they castled like a chess player
hiding one of their number
with their own bodies
a tiny being
who they felt was magic
who must be protected
at cost of all heads
its weird trunk
its speaking trunk
must be
held back
a possibly historic guest
historic ghost
for some mysterious reason
they gave their lives
for something so unknown
to itself
they thought
it might actually be innocent
it could have been
than even that flying thing
dripping blood
from torn jaws
but they were soldiers
so they only had
charred choices
to hold

every good soldier
is the same one

the cowards
carve out


Here is a field tethered to a wall
The cards are no longer about direction
They never were
They slept under rocks, as salamanders splashed with fire
As as
We opened the baked potatoes and found teeth
It had been meditating in the field
We tethered an explanation to a wall
Things were under control
We gave the teeth to the children
Only they will know what to do