Thursday, July 05, 2012

desolation : souvenir

My book desolation : souvenir was published in early February by Omnidawn Publishing, and there was a publication event at Moe's Books in Berkeley.  The book is available at stores includng Moe's and directly from Omnidawn, Small Press Distribution, and, among others.  Thanks very much to Rusty Morrison and Ken Keegan.

Peter Burghardt's video of me reading: (
Small Press Distribution:

Here are four pages of the of the 50-page title poem:

the taste of me is you

father is language
            mother its meaning
life is a sentence
            death is past time 

the parents are aged
            by the death of their child
but her future is secure
            earth speaks trees
each clearing has its thicket
            mind its maze

 her death is their pastime
            too short a life to discover
the shadows in a fire
            what future did she imagine
no time even
            to witness a change of fashion

no logic to the senses

if this can happen
            everything will
we’ll miss the gods we were
            shadows cut from sun 

after light trespasses
            it stands in the room
death’s on death’s bed
            myth holds a candle
you can feel the end
            breathing through the ceiling

 earth draws the final line
            we’re knee-deep in language
must travel to infinity
            to see your daughter’s eyes

the taste of me is you

 the song is called an ‘air’
            the weight of earth is speaking
the loss of each word massive
            dead flowers, living grave     

 so poorly loved
            now dearly understood
our friend of the hours lost
            no desert to cross to save you

 we were two of you
            & you were time aching
so sweet it’s almost suffering
            the ghost of us is passing

eternity really means it 

we’ll fiercely live forever
            we who still remember
the bee inside a flower
            we let the moon run
because it is old
            and half underwater    

have faith and you’ll eat dove
            in a dark corner of china
its freshly chopped feet
            rolling in the broth
life is all the facts
            at the speed of attention

 destiny’s souvenirs
            are inexpensively purchased
a pair of stone scissors
            whatever calls out shining
children pretend  to die
            come to life again, delighted

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At 8:43 AM, Blogger Unknown said...

mind blowing poem !

At 8:48 AM, Blogger Unknown said...

i like this poem very much. i think poetry is not a maid servant of the poet .

At 8:50 AM, Blogger Unknown said...

mind blowing poem !


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