WORD/ FOR WORD: Volume One

William Allegrezza


the   exchange is    not relevant

our images forestalled remain
            in a plane shattered in billions at the service
            of argument

"that sanctuary of potential signals wrapped in terrifying eyes
is the divine space of dying"

as covering covering over
            as in thrown among park bums in a season
            fresh with buds
            as in some manifesto of pictures




along the edge words fall through semi-consciousness
to some grounding space

            "time is an end already contained"

for now the lindens bend the arch that holds
medieval streets in context
and out through the fields is a motion
that confuses the line with its
singular instruments

for now cornerstones fly momentarily with water
before the finger's silence watches them drop
and the winter sun changes with spring
the myriad confusions in chilled skin
that hurry along broken sidewalks

the parts never work towards completion
for the edge vexes their slow rock
vexes their reaction to time
with depletion



"a buddha reached for meat on a friday before the mountain fell"

in irritation              of healthy significance

[under the cherry blossoms
we drink deeply of wine
for no other answer awaits
                        our mortality]

"Let us be considerate of our comrades"
despite the established rule of continuing action so


while the mind settles in replacing to release



[with Keeanga Taylor]

rational numbers don't
explain why dunes turn
fire towers in midsummer rain
while subway lines feed
silent gravel trails
& stolen light

I can't explain why

our hands      replace fog
with stories of      tulipscollidingintoparallel
squares of light     humming delusions
spelling     the obsession of     blind oblivion
to yellow winds      feeding on empty air

I am the hollow point of september

         can you see
                  the children                multiplying
across      the distance between
trains &      chimeras      between hearing & leaving
in recess   & carnivals   tracing carts of melon
in brick rooms where      neighbors let loose on
electric lines & neon panes of LSD

I can only tell you what I do not know

white collars veil dying perch & desert bungalows
in tidal places        the burning gulfs of futility where
organic explosions of light steal seasons
from the melancholy voices of these green woods


[contributors' notes]
[back to Volume 1]