Delta

I stand:     vertical,

no angle but triangle   .     oblique

edges brought to hold

in pyramid, every part of the man

through the center of .

be-hold

thresh-hold, where you, by taking

from me, all that I allowed you,

forced me,

                    triangle of solus

                    the lean the man makes

                    to the earth

       his legs, the earth,

       his eyes, the horizon,

mirror of,

triangulation of a 4 th part

dimension, folding, depth

as depth from organ to organ

visceral

                 depth, points of locus

                 social

(a tree, palpably there, only afterwards

 knowing the decay inside

 as the limbs fall away

 and the sun breaks on my head

         in my eyes     .

         the triangulation of 3 years

         keeling over

         the weight gone out

         as you

         your old clothes

         sent to charity

         which you left

         as if to return

I return to primal weignt

the fourth part folded

of pyramid

                     one face with is

                     to Egypt, IV th dynasty, plant

                     as is offering & is SHU,

                     god of air, holding up the sky

                     and from SHU comes HAT, said KAT,

                     where the Hittites made home

                     and the Egyptians got their cedar

back to tree, , a place of spirit

where death can take the tangible

and send the bird

the bird I speak of

of my love

winging,

                imperialistic spirit

                aerial spirit, SHU    .

                of these many lives

                 is primeval hill,

                                       the first creation

not, in our traditions, Form,

but actual, as mountain,

the earth I meet foot by foot

standing in, deep, as tree     .

depth, as place and position,

how the sun moves, pulling, (RA

and at night the crescent

conjoined gravity, feeding     .

in leaning to you, I

dropped the lines of mountain

did not make pyramid

strained roots

lost bird     .

these,

not metaphors

gravity not a lie, nor gods

when taken at the depth of their words

swallowed, that real

that they are you where you are

to the Greek, 4th letter     .

for this century, compounds

of clutter, but through it

more, all

our disseminations

back & back

to the roots of our lives     .

-- Robin Eichele

Top

 

Home About Us Search Site Map What's New Archives Visual Literature Music Store Contact Us Links Messages