The Life of Sparrows
They dive in cursives
from a life of leaf shadows.
There is insect hunting
and grey turns through out
these dense branch mazes;
we have hidden there weather or not
the memory remains of cradles
higher in breezes, and the knots
and elbows wrapped together,
the ivory and honey of our skins
draped like snakes or silk in as much sunlight
as the leaves would allow
through their small twirling geometries.
We spoke to sparrows then
and were not concerned with Rome
or barbaric machines operating on lunatic oils.
Before this life began
we had long days of years
watching small creatures build small lives
out of dried grass and Dixie cup fragments,
the adult cups that explode on the horizons
of sick, grandiose orange and low blood moons.
The blueness of the old sky
was once represented in the small egg-flake
pretending to give the nest it’s purpose,
purpose pretending to give the nest to us:
a sweet innocent, ignorant drink.
Now, I drink your dirty knees in those branches
and cry hard in the morning
and chase the life of sparrows
across fields and fields of white noise,
like forge hammers beating out my place,
but always in teasing distances I want to touch,
and I know the terrible distances of the lives of others
and I grieve for the terrifying distances we’ve yet to go.
- heath aught
(featured in the poetry forum 06.03.09)
Plutonian Odes
PLUTO-(intro)
•••••••
queen purple
of the blue end dividend
and beware
of the ones you confess your love to,
they willn't reciprocate,
assuming
you fall as often as i do
I..........Blah!, or blah........zzzzzzzzzzzz(new z)
I is so easy
what is I?
I, so confounding.
age is just
saying "I've" only just begun to even
come close to understanding (I)...TM
•••••••
PLUTO-(the begining)
•••••••
your eyes have spoken
the dust of
the thousand
the peak of some naked abyss
to mend this split second
for a collage of days of ours
possesive nitch puzzle peace
of cake on pastel, Pasture
Louie the whateenth?
past her planet
plan it
to a T, if Q, R, and S
agree to stand aside
long enough to build
the great wall of china
china snow
and china go
cabinet worthy
of chip particle approval
•••••••
PLUTO-(here)
•••••••
and what would july be
without november?
it'd be mars
forever
oh! gotta have some pluto!
you're still my planet, pluto
i hold you
palm quiet
to my heart
and keep you there
till all the time that ever was
turns to a pack of ache quiet
butterflies breathing ablaze
for no solar to melt thee
i fucking believe in you, pluto
and the work ethic
of your echo
you live my blood, pluto
you, the sacred poems of my clandestine
i will become the
ferocious reinstatement
of pluto's icy beckon
i beseech you, cube
around
the bend
and cut!
the old oak
you dream of being,
a'ghasp of the
panic required to even begin
darking past your planetary
name...
pluto,
your patient ice
is the sex of solitude
like tuba
without mexican
like the atoms
of smoke pop! to your synthesize
•••••••
PLUTO-(the middle)
•••••••
all arch quiet
on the cusp of gold, pluto
you sing the lonesome age of no
scientist to beam.
how they draw you in
and send you out,
you, victim
of mans blasted agenda
in and out, pluto,
you, two places at once,
and everywhere,
provided
this, the realm
of the haunted ache
of their pepper garnish
you, pluto
fade hot
past the idea
that you
will never grow grass.
you hover silent, no fruit to offer
•••••••
PLUTO-(the love)
•••••••
'round here
youd've been an ocean
in a place incompatible
to contain your freeze
pluto, my teacher
you, pluto, my secret address
-and-
if they want, i extend the offer
to send manila packages
full of ancient exotics-
flowers of chocolates
to my plutonian doorstep
send my paintings
i've never painted
to this oh! so and all mind boggling
residence out in the blessed cold
and true sticks of small mans known universe
i ache you forever, pluto!
•••••••
PLUTO-(the end)
•••••••
pluto!
you smile
you reveille
these sound and pearl
glacier teeth
these staunch and oh! so steadfast
boats
of your doorstep mouth, pluto
you sing your cold
offer
so the sun knows
the symbiosis
that the atoms camouflage themselves
as heat-furious damage
or gentle, quiet lamb
of the star-wish night
why? my pluto
they only allow you the begin
of the end- your arms guess me
like the secret of atlantis...
- heath aught
(featured in the poetry forum 02.12.09) |
