Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Monday, December 14, 2009

The Hard Architecture of the Wooden Dance

old western crime
justice from on high
the men that had done wrong
peaked on acid
and saw the godhead:

electric articulation
organic epiphany
vascular symphony
played with bark, twigs
negative space
deep shadow wood

a child made of crags
crawls down a broken canyon

the ghosts of summer
the limbs of trees
ecstatic tantric
wrestlers, thieves
trails in heaven yet to ride

necks snapping in the wind
these drunken cowboys saunter
across the plains
the rope around their necks
whipping in the breeze
they rode the color trails
and died below the sun



At 7:30 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's not obvious to me how to sing this, but it belongs among your best stuff.



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