fragment 1
squeeze William squeeze
the underlying soil and renew Everything
via vices to hold steady guilt perched in my
gut.
There is no steady relief there is no clean
ontology.
There is no exchange of soul
for soul leaving soul but purified, putrefaction
stays, and a sin is forgiven only by
forgetting the sin.
fragment 2
I am all relief
standing out against the air and a small
world of gravity pimpled all around me
, soft edges stretching under pulling pressure
from asia and gun-toting
Thank for new verse and form
Thanks for nothing in the fox hole, I ride
in an armored truck, a weight with much more
gravity and severe small universes on
the edges of its metal
fragment 3
fragmenting
from a needed relief of thinking and
knowing, like shouting to kill
a gut-wrenching worry without an object or
with an object too vast for a focus
they support you. please don't tell me your
story. I don't even have a story. Only bits
of fragments. Sitting on a turret outside
Cedar. Watching a crazy girl in purple rags
scolding dogs.
as I read I see
the philosophy I read I grasp. The notes of drops of
water in the oceanic expanse next
to the notes on logical relations between me
at a time and snow drifts, the ladders of
language that set us, still in the world,
above the world to see it all at once, and the
note to be taken where you forget
speculation and push a cart in an aisle of
spices; none of these say simply, I am not a
soul. I am a soul. But it cannot be said.
Finally, I am pulling the duck boat
back on shore in the cold morning.
verse
one line at any one
time leads on from note to note, leaping
over time, without concern for veiling or
unveiling, given truths are just the way
things are, neither celebrating nor sad or all
these things, but always saying things. Air
pressure humming is the equal to a series of
words. An act of verse maps neatly to the
earthy here. Meaning is not mapped
[unnecessarily].
A crow dives between bare branches
down behind the neighbor's house.
stanza
A stanza as the basic
metaphysical unit is just as substance. The
being walking, then sleeping, the writing
into love is a series of grammatical
groupings; so is the shape and weight of
things as well as the swift quick kicks of
feet or the dragging of shuffling shoes,
making mass and extension, and movement
and clothing fashions a means of making
the universe.
Refutation of a stanza is almost
logically useless, say like my paper house.
The stanza is irrefutable.