off the TV     you know

that I am dying       and

the lights     I am dying     don’t you



know     spread your pallets over

this parlor rug     that same homeliness

that we can see around us



anytime       anywhere          outside

there’s a grandfather taller than

his corn     taller than this



house       outside there’s a

grandmother pacing a path broader

than this house       broader than her



garden       tends  it   bringing

order     taming rebellion       through a flaming

acacia bush, no less.

Fuse stretches pell-mell for decades…a

disconnected, shooting-stars style…Convinced

that actualization is taking the pledge to take

the pledge.  That wounded bear stumbles



into crystal grottoes…pushed around from

pillar to post.  This detective records notes with

a scalpel…upside down, at his own

request…An orchestration casting



aspersions.  At the end of the day, every

nabob now says.  They couch their concessions

in epigrams.  However, the wait

to see what’s burgeoning is



agonizing…then, and only

then, time for rewards…

Through the cold window pane, sky

streaked with orange, russet, purple,

bruise.  No motive.  Not technically



an ache; not precisely an

emptiness…a vine is not a city…That

one tone that won’t be



reproduced.  No representatives…

efficient living is the theme…Concepts

jumped.   Sheers sheared… serious, sad,



calm, and uncomplaining…From two

rooms away, after just five notes, knowing

it’s Coltrane.

Testimony pours in from the forest.  Snow

that descends through all snow…reason

to rebellion to revelation… Industrialization  

of burial; reincarnation of

nonexistence…unworthy ones can still keep



the name of God alive… That final

essay of the term deals with fallen

angles.  What’s wrong with anybody?  Wisdom in

one direction; Prophecy in another…Light

that pierces all light.