A text wrapped in
leaves
Leaves
When the wind blows
through the leaves
I wait while water
boils
I knew I was awake but
… couldn’t quite believe it
Hungry and wondering
I was wondering
What was in the mind
of … Eurydice
I think Rilke tells us
…
And when, abruptly,
The
god put out his hand to stop her, saying,
With
sorrow in his voice: He has turned around--,
She
could not understand, and softly answered
Who?
…
The water has boiled
The thinner than a
razor blade that slips between you and yourself is an imperceptible vertical
hyphen
The want is ended
And then continues
Why do I keep typing
then deleting
Is my heart
Your heart?
Who is morirroring my …
Who lends me this un-
Rooted passion?
A semblance of the sun
A wicked likeness of
morning
Shines up among the
ruins
Visible now
The sentence
Of interlocked bridges
It is all here
*
*
*
Cobweb between two
branches
*
*
*
My teacup is empty
Not apocalypse but a
wicked likeness of morning
Is my heart
Your heart?
The Death Ship passes
the lighthouse on dark brown paper
[Notes: Sources: texts by the 6th “group” of 13 authors in Bay Poetics (ed. Stephanie Young), taken back to front: Julia Bloch, Dodie Bellamy, Kevin Killian; Helène Cixous, Dream I Tell You, as quoted in Jacques Derrida, Geneses, Geneaologies, Genres, & Genius (both tr. Beverley Bie Brahic – not in Bay Poetics); Jocelyn Saidenberg; Federico Garcia Lorca, “Confusion”, from “Mirror Suite” (tr. Jerome Rothenberg, modified – not in Bay Poetics); Alan Halsey, “Five Accounts of the Arrest of English Poetry” and “Coherent Light”, respectively, in Not Everything Remotely (not in Bay Poetics); Yedda Morrison, Magdalena Zurawski, Pamela Lu, Mary Burger, Stefani Barber, Tanya Brolaski, Brent Cunningham, Laura Moriarty; and me. The Rilke is from “Orpheus. Eurydike. Hermes”, (tr. Stephen Mitchell). A super-supersized baker’s sonnet]