made things

By | 25 July 2009

bookbinder
atlas and fire
a medieval pronoun
makeshift engine

-Do not use boiling water-

skin pores. adjectives
on the underside of a kid
draw the cosmopolitan
in a tree.

this new composition
seasons
the word and the thing
on the unmasked pages.

wind touch
the paper the moulding
a manufactured
entitlement always somewhere else.

-The ghost in the plastic agrees-

breath stirs
old questions in new English.
I measure my length
of time or narrative

living
living
living.

that mercenary ethic
looks nothing, just ingredients
slowly made
from day to night.

what has gone missing
-the fine creation full of holes-
the unbearable rumbling
worse than a clock

you don't see are linebreaks
typed-The salt rising to the surface-
a short lesson
enjoining us to attend more closely

to weaving nothing
half a line
blunt pencils
inkless pens.

the smell of ordinary life
thick with resistance
troubles, leaving an eerie absence
to guide us reliant on reflection.

a path leads
out of these trees
Someone imagined
in the roaring library-

words hand-tied lined in rows
behind the small splinters
and wood grain, teasing out
flecks of leaf. I thought

recyclable materials
are subject to change.
tenderness guarding nothing
must be so hungry.

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