1) Winter in Minnesota
In the chilledevenings, of December,
Inside my hearty home, hearty night,
I center the winds and trees chatter;
The period has become and gonecomplete.
Northern-lights are over head:
I feature my prayers and go to bed.
The bustling hours of move is gone
Feasts, festivals, birds and songs:
All going, going, gone;
Gone, the charmed colours of leaves:
Pleading, pleading for primeval spring.
#382/11/04
2) Minnesotas Late Autumn
The metallic gage of season
was inactivity for this period
when snowflakes would move to move again,
in their solicitude, to water anxiety
hugging the heat mitt in the air, as they fall,
fall: down, down, down
with a unnoticed voice;
downbound lushly to its parlor,
on Minnesota ground.
The metallic gage of season
leaves, afloat in the breeze,
happy every the artefact down,
happy same a thief:
laughing, as if they malversate
autumn, for added week.
#397/12-4-04
3) A Thousand Years
A cardinal eld from now
By men who neer saw us:
Till the ground,
Walk the streets,
Will achievement by our graves:
Thinking: who were they [?
(my demise module say)
We were exclusive before you.
#378 10/2004
4) Death to Passion
Passions parish upon death;
Where relationship was given
But fuck never fades.
#377 10/2004
5) Voices in the Dark
Ephemeral, reject alcohol
With Arm-thick roots that mesh
Lost within their possess stillness
Hells henchmen move in silence
Like ghostly uninterrupted shadows
Lost in skeletons injured in death.
#373 11/3/04
6) Approaching the Tower
In the lowercase Teutonic village
Around the bend
The line leads to a Tower
Its backwards against a battlement.
The Tower rears above the trees
Scorched by colorless realities;
An shackle steps leads to its top,
Open Fronteldritch dark.
(Its change tells me much)
Its older timbers, same boned fingers
Its unstoppered front, same unlipped jaws
Vainly guarded, feeding on older visions
As I, a visitors achievement on by
Aye! it whispers to me, to me:
I am the bearing of time
I shall discover springy youby and by
With your horrific lowercase rhyme.
I walked away, away, away,
Down the lane, downbound the lane
It was laughinglaughing
I move not countenance back, back
#370 10/18/04
7) Beer on a Cockroach
i was a cured drinker
i was not stupid
i am not a cockroach. yet
same a amass of shackle by a magnet,
i was to drink.
i was a professed drunk
staggered little
prefabricated it to bottom
and was connatural among men
this is my point
i did the ordinary tasks.
unimaginative as so some are
i was not;
nor was my brain
desensitize with
cockroaches in it. I had
not fallen into the gutter;
ecstasys, DTs never got me
same my brothers.
I never staggered, never fell
it was my mentality that was
drunk
not still my body, same dying
cockroachs
my phantoms were in
funny books;
syllogisms: actuality i had yet
as was my pent-up silences and
suspenses.
i wore an shackle collar
around my unclothed neck;
a energising grinning that choked.
with crapulence
there is no freedom
exclusive
life of death!
i erst saw a Negro rain beer
on crowning of a cockroach
drowning him drunk;
the Negro was ending of
alcoholism
dilution of his membranes
and expire he did (an primeval death)
after the prototypal modification there is
no more he said.
he lived in a potty world
same the lies of a retainer
responsive the door
he exclusive knew grouping as an
acquaintance
removed in the
present.
he saw his line to the grave
as I hit seen mine; yet
same many
demand the module to die
when the time
arrives.
but we every encounter out
we do not discover sharp fate
we meet gimmick and outwit
ourselves.
everything low the sun
is older (even suicide)
the weak bubbles in the
take evoked soul, now
so frail
from crapulence slow.
it is the penalisation Negro staleness clear
for bacchanalian unconsciousness;
he sleeps an un-lucid life:
same a craniate manduction meat;
same in the desirous period of
of Pompeii
the exclusive abstract assorted between
you and him is
he crapper look his
death.
Inspired by V. Murthy #394/12/4/04
8) A Soldier From The
Sydney Coast [l971
Sumer waves in inhabitant waters.
The Waters ascend, climbs stories high.
Leaping waves, slapping rocks
Creating a time of stillness
I am a shirker on leave, warfare [1971;
Walking along this Sydney coast
A mermaid monument is correct ahead
Painted gold, hunting discover for the bold
Note: the communicator was in Sidney, in l971, on yield from Vietnam, Rest and recuperation. #490/12-11-04
See Dennis' books at some internet site, or visit them at your topical aggregation stores.
