Two Poems from Reason and Other Women

JUSTICE

stadia of events a city of cries a mosai a mosai a mary with missing face and who is
reason who deals still with pieces with the means or medium for integrating piece she
stands in her long blue dre

in our usine to be use for your myriad failures the crystal fact factory the crystal fact factory is envy or is

envy or is it avarice

going on towards fast the ring of value i thought it was a faint pencil line swelling to
words it was a ball a costly dance for france for jewel of artichoke he is bounty he is
bliss, our billionaire lord

the night rains its failure in long thin pencil lines through the high windows over the
mosaics they are attending a reunion but it isnt my class

i am from another one am crys fail am splend for am formlessness of the supre
slide in the black hole of the broken a womans intestines burst open in lengths of white
tubes just coming through the door just exiting municipal building shes shot
by enemy, that, dont worry

a man will kill enemy this is the city

i am sitting on the counter in my slit to the thigh dress singing a song about sadness so
you will like me

i zip it up and slink away like a mermaid i am an intellectual i have no sex i am equal
to you and deliver learned disquisitions i top you i am a poet and i have more language
than anyone singing of sadness i top you isnt life great ameri i can sing of

pain and top you sint life isnt americ great and i can great and life so top you have
topped you again i zip it up in order to be humble top you

life is for vapors of luxury mental to feel comfortable in steam air there while other
other hosts approval dont you know this regular call to another in front of the other
to make a show thats what its for

drink the saints around the edge of the chalice and you will be precious a witness
to your times eat the crust on the cover of the gospel and you will be ornate
but you cant eat the portrait of justice

what do i its the sure of substance that has penetrated the depths of my body
the citys so crowded i cant see it then it isnt thee city so crowded then it isnt going on
and going on find your chance li by find the wedge in the down of write the wing show
once again the tissue of failure the bony wing of the pale archaeopteryx

rises above ive gotten archaic di i always want and this archaic flight nonetheless as all
flight is flight

so rob me sue rape me grieve me so. having no hero whatso the pure bliss of the pure
bliss of no person better than no poet better than i so

the super known qualit he sings in the country though country doesnt have cunt in
the word any more

thats a thats one for the various hieroglyphics you know
then this must be the city somehow but it isnt very crystalline
let the noise die down first, try to find something of use here
how much but this is pure static today so undirected
i i must touch her byzantineness touch the tess before i can go on i need
to be calmer

a sure thing a ring come wonder and find me as faithful as the weather to my keyboard
andn the coins and various watches and the avenues out of all and th th and
machinations fly away for the jewel there a new purple one

this mood deepends purple waters beneath the gold drowned swimmer whose face is
eaten by water by fish i find me here beneath decay and drowning in the trivial
hold on to nothing

drown now drown no breath and its none im filled with water cant brea
lie on bottom hair out and fuzz weed just swayed in here why a chance to
what did she drown of she drowned of chance was it no it was neglect, that is the
crime of the century in all its aspect

i am building i remember a building a church which will transcend all neglect
and outside it is the crystal knowledge of the dead that is a city a message from the
second world enwrapping me

the pencil gentle lines in the sky become words the bare design of the city becoming
becoming words, the messages from the dead weve come through the static ive drowned
in but im not dead, neglected but im not dead

the lines are swelling again what is worth knowing i dont know what is worth it
what is your says, that the rains place part we mean that the primacy pri ma cy of
speaking in whatever way is for a thing, to hold in justice the disparate wholenesses
of, those whose pains have torn them, but, what they know from, is the tear, this is
difficult, so each one arises, from in pain, you cant ask for your pain, or you wont
know, if you inflict pain you may not know

this is to know, the name of yourself the one who has always, enures is always, has al
and to know who you are and

true im afraid to write these things down where come from from sayings of the dead
fro the cliches of the everywhere

oh white wisp of line in sky why and the trees next to space travel

i am qualified to give you pain by telling the truth

SNAKE TIME

the child she bore a ground snake had been no events give spare time to animals none
of these words would work now. the child was only a year or all of time which was
not new or old, ground was easier desert ground there is no dispute there the snake of
the year of all beginning movement of movement and length invested oh invest who
can use that. she is a snake is a world of time unsegment oh who can use what is use
who can. who is not to be thrown away but will rise above or defray the cost of
identity oh who can use that, to not be hurt the construct or more when you were hurt
it was real disease a touch of the nightmare matter it wont go away air bigger and
events are not and all time is spare and there is no animal and words might work
now. no evil uneradicable if bound up in real each person who person who practices
the evil you dwell but all mosaics are a luxury not in a local style the treasure each one
a new new code independant called both sides of the frontier i took the sentence and

stretched it all out saint snake ground around the names of artists eradicated so could
lift off the attached and never cry again. supposed not, supposed, symmetry doubled
like a wing world into the first and second worlds but they blurred now and the old

year was dead so much unwise wisdom tossed around often espoused by despots in
gentle terms i was so glad to sleep as long as as long as a snake as long as a snake can
stretch or can down the gulley ive always called home. is it that if the words grow up
more vertically city arise and if they stretch we have seven more years of the other
years, of the snake i know what you want the delicate love part or something to
comfort conceit of whatever, selfworth wisdom or simple deserving in the city where
but which city now. thats why the red is pale remember and i can luxuriate in the
warmth of the paler groundswelling red snake without mail the masonry is relieved
by is relieved by the changeable oddness of the objects we are know and love. the style
of your saint. walked yesterday in a city where everyone was dead it is possible not to
use the word form isnt it then the saints faces crowd around me wait to hear pale wise
voices animal call, call. in the groundswell floor wisdom green snake or serpent

night failure a visible who reproduce just listen for it told me too look out for the
crowdedness of things i wasnt really concentrating concentrating on a concentrate of,
of, it shouldnt be only a world of endurance and the sentence could slide by double

back and not be so dignified. i saw you mean well that was, but just in the gallery who
needs it not quite this sound its a past, whats wrong with a past and the old year walks
towards me again that can happen, happen. there are some words with some valor.
not i wanted you all across the thirst of the desert ground because i never did i never
approved of any wanting i didnt think that was love at all, i thought it was a deep as
splitting and recombining as what the first amoebas did out of their being so splatting
brilliant, that was symmetry but one is more more than symmetry more than love as
word part of a vast monastic monadic complex so difficult to describe in the current
that moves us towards first hatred and in the city is that so tell me old fren. he blithe
small had cast off the pain of each side making sense which is a physiological impetus
witnessing you youth the badgering of dreams to enter elsewhere because always
straddling the border or is that so. i lasted and last i, sure i can trust you a second time

straddle loving the border as i do where living takes place the border a snakelike and
drinking of the stranged the strange red rosed with a sarcophagus i will be produce
perhaps violent contrast with the tradition the traditional way of seeing the monster
we build on the one side and that i hate but that is superfice most of the mosaics or
even frescos that decoate my decorate my mind are above it the architect. be above the
architect. the time that, and she sat, a figment of past before shes dead now remember,
or he the monstary of the dead the starry mountain the monastery of those those unce
unc unicells those lovely amoebae i may be only am. dont like this but like doing it
dont have to like it d goes by it goes by dont freeze it and look at it isnt art isnt art so
much as snake. smell it. going on and give some, a little of air red slide more,
hierarchy not but then how distinguish or must i, not exactly yet to keep making do to
be here and the warmth of the palered all the length of my reflecting, had been have
been climbing am the road up the mountain for centuries of dream so its been a long
night and dont have to take on. its a lump then shining the shape ahead its just a
thing but there has to e be a thing does there really have to dont sound like other one

you say past in distinction of old year like dont be like her men say, dont be like her be
like him or me, wings fly, wings fly any other way and so fast you cant say like the
population like the civil grand liberty your power theres no power her, if theres no

pow you i dont have dont have to what you or say theres no power here over me
rains come but not you the to whom i address for a mome the wind though ope and
thats all gone again. that dewiness of a new birth a wing has it its pale blush a locust
has it and has a pale redness sometimes perhaps in the eye region, this is all in the eye
region. what is its numbers scheme oh the same old, arbitrary one as before like those
sixes we can still have a six and, six and, finally let me in into my bed i’m much bigger
than. some panels are unachieved as the snake slith as progressive as the art
byzantine oh like that word, dont you like byz, red less productive is coming by
dressed to disengage from what i dont wish. am the new year am. say it all read it or
not, the night is important or imported everythings imported in the one world and
over the border just across the border but is it really different, i want to see you clean
i’m trying to make up my mind i’m going away to a star i’m not i’m going the night is

far the day is maddening there’re two of every, ever, there are two always two snake is
many or one there, some tableaux and the flat black. everything keeps come pour out
keeps pouring out and i cant cant systemize my objects they refuse to be mine, or

anyones whats a thing whats a thing.

Reason and Other Women is available for order from Chax Press.

poetryBarzakh Mag