“beside her, a smiling seraph delicately uncovers Theresa's breast to ease the path of his arrow.”

“if that’s a look of divine ecstasy, I know all about it”

toes of grace and
knees of grace and
mercy of th stubborn
grace of th tangled
heart of grace mime
me mimicry of mourning
of grace of th night storm
where we are baptized
in th thunder and th
of lightning
of grace, bower—
“I will make my love a—“
what is a sepulcher rough
neck of grace chapel
in th woods th bent ribs
of rafters where grace
trembles before this thistle
mercy wound fig of grace, o
2 b grateful: be grateful, graceless
animal of th bent
stalks, eyes and eyelids and
lips of grace teeth of
grace how 2 learn
what is necessary
of grace, what is asked of u,
by grace, and will u kneel before it,
in th deep
woods long spine
aching river flowing
into th lake
of grace, plunge
of th taut
muscle soft
into grace
I come.

take one form and fill th vessel
take one form and chase th echo
take one from among th many
grasp it by its mollusc
take one stroke and then hold back
th next
take one animate thing and breathe on it
take one instance and replicate it
hold yr face right up 2 my face night sky
stuck in a constellation
of imprecise grace, take one given thing
and give it back
take one fig leaf and place it over
take one flower and then another

while th daffodil is in th field there can b no clover
when rigid is th paradigm— bend over—
bathe me in th glory
creature fireflies
of my mouth in th dark
land of night where I stood
wrecked, un-angel’d
barefoot beside the lake—
I feel my neck move
under my own hand.

make it b my heart
ringing like a lonely field
I am of th echo, crave
th fold—

teeth where u have
eyes where u have
hands where u feel
th soft arch of feet th
arc of breath between
lips of breath th lips
of night comes down
th shaft—so soft—so
common this day is each
day as unbidden as
th next—

I am in th unbidden
desire of
grace’s endless
endless night

“But as a matter of fact, the modern anachronism is not the union of body and soul [...] but its demure separation into sensual and spiritual experience.”

“within th basilica”

“is held aloft on th fingertips”

“he had betrayed th integrity of stone”

“it is this precise moment, both spiritual and carnal, that Bernini tries to seize”

oh my speckled
speckled egg of summers
mists and dawns
unquenching firmament of boughs
thrown at th doorways and th afterthoughts
and aftershocks of morning, there
where I have cleft a single note
gone arcing, left to it’s own
devices as th weeds
unfurl, grow unruly
there th tempest reigns
and carves its
high throne mighty
is th sword make of
me th sword th tempest
shake from these boughs
loose th summer petals
th full undisclosure
of my own—

o go now
fool where I have given u
unto th silence, let it
break you
truck tire + mirror
ounce of summer,
you have already
let it pass, this thing
a million fish
in yr empty hands
don’t pass me th god
forsaken boughs, I like mine
full of th early
cherry blossoms I will
take th evening light,
th waning moon, against
all rational consideration, against
th grainy fields of night, this is my
constellation, shape of many
many forms
reconfiguring itself
in th empty
empty field of night—
why don’t you ever
come to me—I have made this
bower, I have picked
each red flower
and put it in a vase, I have said
mercy is upon th eyes
of all th gods and I,
I will kneel
at their feet they that
anointeth me, I that
anointeth them, each
to each, w their teeth, their
eyelids, their silence
unto th shape of things
to come I go
like a little fish
while th great
writhes milky and
luminous around me, say again
those things, freaked animal
of th verge, hymnal
by which all known things
proceed in th countless
terrors of our own
dusk, our own


“In so far as my hand knows hardness or softness, and my gaze knows th moons light....[].... certain ways th outside has of invading us and certain ways we have of meeting this invasion” Merleau-Ponty

“[th bifurcation of th sensory organs].... indicates that this body is a form destined to th world [...] a sort of open circuit that completes itself only in things, in others, in th encompassing earth”

Idolatry of th verge.  crest of an echo, solipsism
of th void, sweet root-flesh of th root.  Hassle of sun,
communion of jupiter, liturgy of geese & lakes.
th river of silence as of a river of light where you were
late to your own baptism, naked, by th highway, a million
miles from th center of th earth.  Paradigm of objects in motion,
declension of th verb “to be”— dripping, “come unto me”—archangel
of th lonesome earth, th vultures raising off th body in slow motion,
th heat from th engine still hot under me. I cannot singlehandedly
baptize th whole wilderness.  I will start
with this river.  

and who will prepare th way before me, son of
man, glistening in th green waters.  we are in-
extricable from th dna of th world around us, our senses
comingled with th sensed “without which there would be no
possibility of experience” listen, I’m trying to tell you something,
even though I cant hear myself above th ringing darkness,
th stars, mastiffs and echoes, count me among yr numberless
eons of seed, acres of permission, parallax of clover, axle of
rhyme upon skin, orbit of pure need.  mars is cresting th
southeastern horizon, like a little bitch chasing his shadow
love is not a harbour, there is no such thing as a gift.

th magnolias are still blooming in Ozark,
th dam, th river, th vision of it; seethe. “damn near
put a hurt on me” [in me— in me— in me—]
thick w foam— riddled w gesture
opiate of form— th body— stunning— “had a good
spawn there”  “I’ve fished
with minnows smaller
than these” |  th Lawlessness of Arkansas
[lawlessness is a state of Grace] where my heart
stands like a lonely bird, fishing from th dark rocks— Unclench
th great dam o Arkansas of my soul, untriumphant
this night.   line of white
egrets along th writhing edge where th
water rears up.  was it fear
that kept you— how did you know
how to hold back th flood?