textfiles/politics/SPUNK/sp000324.txt

from _MILESTONES, FRACTAL SET_

by Karl Young


factories at night     the rest of your life
in light mist     make a song of that     
chaste moon a clock     as easily and gracefully    
nimbused in mist     the red and the blue     
a sign-off prayer      such delicate gradations     
light on particles     their even but definite flow     
as elements functioning     in closely related states
to a lover of cities     distinctions of molecular structure
to me driving home     patterns of turbulence
pure fluted white     nearly matching each other
quarry brought with it     the slight disjunctions
place to build     creating the variance of color
sea coming in     the modulation of light in darkness
had to go that far round     to convince yourself     
of the local     a thousand miles inland     
mist comes in from the lake     as the feel of the city
sulfur from stacks     beautiful for words
do not confirm or deny     and are not indifferent     
it is simply the comfort     delicate and overwhelming     
of this mist this sulfur this light     the breaks in this life     
these enshrined factories     the distinctions we need     
look different now     the systole/diastole     
wrench in the guts     of day and night     
after cleaning the walls     see what you learned     
of tannery vats     actions extensions of nature     
through a Man-Power job     each has tried     
chalk and effluent     to understand his ground     
chest limed with acid     the innocence of place     
air too heavy to breathe     the elements of light     
our visions are one     individuation remains     
/has the satisfaction     in any case     
of this utterance     take light from the water
left me with the complacency     find rest in combustion
that seeks to break up     take breath from the earth
the great confluence     mine the skies

@


intensity of smog     opaquing room door     
seen from the deck     twelve hour days this week     
lights of the city     starting to fray them     
schemata of waste     arguing in the next room
their strength and their anger     so quiet in here     
remaking night     might as well get it over with     
scum on the river     for a funeral parlor     
red or organic     don't want to see proofs     
ashes in fields     all the typos     
oceanic detergents     seem like gallows humor     
travel the seaways     just for this job     
follow earth's tunnels     as far ahead as they can     
the paths of the sky     have to work even faster     
migration of stars     have to do it over again     
noumena remains     get a factory job     
compressed from starpoint     no responsibilities     
pollen in sunlight     know what you're supposed to do     
points of light     justify a mapped sign     
face in her eyes     a tough knot on Silver Spring     


@

can only articulate    for many years    
where we are going    suggesting verse     
by whatever road    back into English     
or returning to silence     and letting you enter    
a kind of sound poetry     hope and psyche    
or spoken backward     before going to sleep    
till the beginning of time      poems I'd write
the language I speak     through all of your lives    
something remembered     by her evolving presence     
when I was a priest     red and black ink     
I study now     her powers of vision    
sleep induced words      as she rediscovers them     
she turns on the recorder     as she unfolds it     
I don't remember     I wish I could follow    
when I wake up      parallel or apart    
familiar things     lives past and future    
triggered by the sounds     of metal and rubber    
cars glitter past me     in those infinite lives    
I've encountered today     though she might see    
what many looked like     things she remembers     
I don't know how many    she sees in the dark
enclosed in their capsules     that come from my mouth     
the great choreography     from her previous lives    
intertwining and running     still she finds traces    
on the freeway today      any dreams or sensations    
of this endless adventure     I wake up or stop    
the paths she remembers     and painted the books    
from a past life    that must have been graced     
in Nahuatl or Mixtec     or speech that was garbled    
or simply ur versions    a car skids    
off to my right      let me follow you back     
if that isn't possible     before waking up    
I'd speak in a language    formally structured    
without saying a word     hoping that will suffice     
keeps opening doors     when I'm not aware     
enter my life     rolls out before you      
on some unknown level     deeper than images     
I see from my car     she's tried to make tapes    


@

coming of summer     force of days     
air changes patterns     heat rises this afternoon     
the front hall door     dust on the windshield     
I try to close softly     dust on my hands     
pulls my hand     dust storms rise     
windows open upstairs     out on the street     
wind blowing above me     the world's abrasions     
pulls the door from my hand     rise around our cars     
a door somewhere else     wind in my hair     
slams as loud     bare arm out the window     
the clotheschute today     cool as I move     
the back hall     when I stop     
sound as willed     heat and dirt     
always something to run for     resettle on skin     
the pressure of days     car gathers heat     
pushes against us     voices rise on the heat     
whatever lies ahead     up with the sounds of voices     
seems like a vacuum     doors slamming     
drawing us forward     simplest joy in the word     
frame of bones     human sound heard     
holds us here     without articulation     
flesh in the wind     simple need to hear voices     
sail of life     without articulation     
common arrangement     sound formed for a purpose     
of doors and windows     purpose lost     
houses and rooms     but need carried     
streets and destinations     gesture of lungs extended     
remains as pressure or vacuum     beyond particulars of speech     
as our words     the need to keep some speech in flux     
draw us forward     residuum of dust


@

This Moon - 2     Venceremos
and as my feet     watching the same moon     
I feel like humming     Mary Ann and I watched     
or clapping my hands     we're seeing tonight     
is silent beside me     we saw an eclipse     
discussion and singing     passing between     
an evening of hope     we see the moon     
none of us trust     inside the car     
that most Americans     to the waning disk     
demented aggression     other than talking     
however weak     from different locations     
a time to speak     the things it suggested     
to feel the unity     of literal context     
seems to create     it made us feel     
by the sense of brotherhood     so far apart      
of universal peace      watch that moon     
a passive entity     twelve centuries ago     
while she does her job     when its beams touched her hut     
takes her notes      when they reunited     
but she at least     when they were together     
and ask her questions      we're reinacting     
I got to stand     older than Tu Fu     
to say what I felt     only the details     
and let nothing disturb     daughter of sunlight     
her reporter's detachment     to eclipse the moon     
she felt tonight     and silence the whispering     
to join the rally     and astronomer kings     
that what happened tonight     is only a product     
to feel as I did     brought back to me     
restraining my feet     of industrial machines     
habra gue romper     in some other way     




The first four poems in this group were first published in
TYUONYI #8. The fifth poem first appeared in BULLHEAD #1.