Give Avalanches Here


Now shivering fancy turns
Her weary head to Winter’s forms
Which lurk beneath suspended Suns

A latitude of white grace
To blanket all yesterdays with layers
With the tumult of ice in flight

Dear snow, where is the rainbow’s ray?
That flung colored fluff, I rejoice
In all that nature leaves us as bright

The bitter cold, and her eccentricities
That with a frozen butterfly’s magic
I must depart, Like a smallest housewife

Into the grass, where existence became
Lost in self, with only
Natural powers to mangle me
Or the choice ignorance of my own designs.

Extract from the Shadow of Beloved Objects


The most beautiful and precious
Is the object that does not exist
Like the future wish of the halo of heroes
Or the ideal luminous and true

The most lasting and love-worthy
Is the object not within our grasp

Like the divinity of our descendents
Or the possibilities of space-travel

The study of objects is in the
Service of water, the refinement of light
Where Antigone once cradled her truth
The most beautiful is the object

Which does not exist, yet
Neither blindness or death can

Take away this object, this stream of love
Which does not exist, like the mark of God

Invisible on your placebo laden brow
The most beautiful of possessions
Is belonging, who negates our absences
And regrets, every mortal hearts know her

She swells like an ocean, beneath
The salty increase, the after-world paradise
Awaits like a vertical-horizon of angelic
murmurs, muttering, smatterings, smackings.

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