*
Zero built a nest In my navel. Incurable Longing. Blood too--
From violent actions It's a nest belonging to one But zero uses it And its pleasure is its own.
(from The Quietist)
*
The limits have wintered me as if white trees were there to be written on.
It must be purgatory there are so many letters and things.
Faith, hope and charity rise in the night like the stations of an accountant.
And I remember my office, sufficiency.
(from O'Clock)
*
The stains of blackberries near Marx's grave do to color what eyes do to everything. Help me survive my own presence, open to the elements.
Fog mist palloring greens, no demarcations, but communitarian gravestones.
Celts lost to Anglo Saxons who endlessly defended marks. Guerrilla war, terror: the tactics for landless neo-realists.
(from O'Clock)
Fanny Howe*
Zero built a nest In my navel. Incurable Longing. Blood too–
From violent actions It’s a nest belonging to one But zero uses it And its pleasure is its own.
(from The Quietist)
*
The limits have wintered me as if white trees were there to be written on.
It must be purgatory there are so many letters and things.
Faith, hope and charity rise in the night like the stations of an accountant.
And I remember my office, sufficiency.
(from O’Clock)
*
The stains of blackberries near Marx’s grave do to color what eyes do to everything. Help me survive my own presence, open to the elements.
Fog mist palloring greens, no demarcations, but communitarian gravestones.
Celts lost to Anglo Saxons who endlessly defended marks. Guerrilla war, terror: the tactics for landless neo-realists.
(from O’Clock)
Fanny Howe