Poetry | June 01, 2009

Featuring the poems:



If I could enter what I long for,

true coursing, blown North,


some passage I believe is fluid

without the stops of intellect,


I’d be a glacier disassembling

into liquid, icy grains


awash and running, freed

from rigid doubt into one bead


of travel, cold without pain,

removed from but akin


to others in a witless flux

of continuing, scrambled syntax


whose translation is diluted,

whose value is all go


uncontrived, arrow of happenstance,

inebriated flow,


and where I would be riding

would not be justified, there would be


no reason for it, I can tell you-

extemporary motion,


the going and the being gone

to sea.

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