Five Poems

what one eats is destroyed and no

longer real – a grievous error
on earth but in heaven one
consumes & is consumed by god
{muscularly not our}

god & god’s
will to seize us

{Ecclesia 1}

my dove in the cleft of the rock

my hiding place my city
the beginning of my face, your face
is the beginning
of recall & grace

is a grove

of almond trees blooming is books
there are many & their endings like bodies
are wearisome
you say better a day of naissance
than the insatiable stimming of eyes

when I applied my madness
of erasure
{windthrows woman throws}
no one was long remembered

I am a fool
or wise & this too is semantics

god lays such burden on us-eternity

in our hearts inconceivable our skins
to fathom the doings & daily

here is reverence: belief in all things
possibled & dying

better are mouthfuls
of tranquility than wingfuls
of toil & wind & cords
restlessly snapping

this all comes without meaning
the way you depart in darkness
& in darkness your name
is shrouded

better what the eye
sees when the almond tree blooms
when the skin drags itself
along & desire is no longer stirred

death determination
_________ = ______________

nothingness life

{Heidegger}

{Ecclesia 2}

my dove is a cleft of rocks hiding

in cities in places beginning
with faces begging for cognizance
& grace
groves of almond trees

bloom & books bloom & there
there are many endings of bodies
{wearisome bodies}

beating a day of dying
I’m stimming
death is insatiable

like an eye half-applied
for madness half for erasure
& wind throws & we throw & no

syntax is long remembered

such a burden on eternity living with god

in our hearts our unconcealed skins
feature the daily doings

it’s possible reverence is nothing
but a belief in dying
in all things a toll

a dovetail of toil a fistful of wind
the cords of tranquility spurring

a way without meaning departs in darkness
dark shrouded a name for dark eyes betters

the almond eye blossoms & trees drag
their desires to the sad bins of rot

{resurrection}

cast your bread upon water

cast your returns
upon the weary
the dead
perfume of flies

is an error spelling her dark names
in dark books & light books

& relenting
her cavernous rest

{three angels canting}

1. we wait for god and god’s will waits to seize us

2. god my brute necessity
is perfectly
nonpresent

3. if

god wants me god will

find me