night sang sung sum thing arbor
vitae they whose halves bit. not light.
whose was was “flesh farewell”:
we?
behind—a screen’s sanction carnival derives
ultimately not from a calendar
prescribed by church or state but
from a force that preexists priests
kings to whose superior power they
are actually deferring when they
appear to be licensing scrutiny
—in us, harvested
their seed, many kinds—barkers! smolder that
lived mirth noodles in strings fits mutton who
twirl knocking paper
lanterned purple effigies hoisted
at sticks—
the ignitions bursting through vault
to shine—popped—in times lent Selah,
tis but fruit from the shittim tree.
> RIVERS
such moments granted annihilation’s blur renewal
circling space as clouds
packed it down—near whose river whose
ranges
south and east of the unmanned point where
where towpaths begun but their plaza still
runs—little chaoses budding—
like squirrel the smolder fled and withstood
the sting that grows on back of the human
fire loosened at the fore for exhaust animal
what was then there as ever t’was ours unfinished
turdy round things a fair a pox take em
sausages adoring the pig does not my ( ) tell you
me gouty ones be humble on this
you found me hope faith the evidence
of things unseen—
whose nesting whose tree—
precious fluids fumbled we can bang as hard as we
like what the hell! the belly
will be stuffed fake fibs freezing faggery and
farts this will last
until ( ) is put in chains whose dead
history dies w/we?
blister bust her no me bud it’s just
work our plans now
are turning to.
and he from the reading’s sticky pearl ultimately,
restorative dramas
even if not yet singalong’s comma man
who’d say
catholic pigs at some convention,
for fuck’s sake she
won’t ever be english
> RANGES
t’was when one of him stopped—leaving her
questions.
Should them rain bowed “Girl Singing” beads that
were flaminal mysts and mysterious flamens
salted in her interstellar sweat I have, by a long and
curious experience
found out a means to wipe me bum “droit
du seigneur” tithe “infrastructure” annates—
veil—
at some other time before t’was
she—whose pre dict they would paper
like he—notes to find a note’s
blood borne pitch
bitch
of a tone’s low performance where names rolled
let us sit here in Shade of t’wee one eyed
temple down
even older steps
down—passed what cars now park dark in units her
time to suspended not
says she to he—and his and so. they’re ending.
joined; differently.
—barkers! coat-tailed
goats like a climax lurch onto the plaza—
bobbing
to no rain for some no rain for some
time to mountain fire loosens ice
set-to-thin to spillways waiting tomorrow—and all
this time the year’s crop will
stay inside combusting in blankets—divorced liver.
notes upon Tabios’ Villa
(By and © Jared Schickling)
