a new poem

entities multiplied past all necessity

The silence smells of the river
and charred oxen. Yesterday I dis-
covered severe strangers, misbegotten

one became the pleasure of being

above the treeline in the grey
bouldershade that countenances

one’s becoming was divineness

their quiet. Their speechless words.
They recite that forever story—

the strange heart remote, self-conceived
— and I wither in rainy breezes

one’s being became divineness

when they fan
my solemn, long, mad blaze. I possess.

one was the madness of becoming

I’d wished for breath, a silence
magnificent, exquisite, useless,
a becoming blue blur. Yet this, this air.

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