dark inwoven vision seeking clear,
pure — smiths a dagger.
when you told me
some are the abeyant,
in that terse communal,
some out
of print
Radio
Body English
Silent Radio's
writing of an english
Body cursive and lithe
i arranged all things:
TV, escritoire, left a place for
a machine, drone of minutes
and the fixed gore of absence
all wounds avulse, words
to wring realm of bones.
image of men is no huddled God
in the synagogue pew;
this is the distinct cadence of
the indescribably beautiful:
when words continue to bleed
they will never go out of print
and they will mint something in the soul
without a word, or a gesture,
or an insignia of attendance.
their benign dreams prowl
upstream,
your dreams,
i willingly go, rising, falling
riding all the darkness.
for Sir Ricky de Ungria
