Letter for Poet Friends
By god, or goddess
I can make things
happen in to you Tell any song birdwhere craft & quiet loves
can go: to limits
(vision is scope, as well as
focus.
& Don’t anybody read
Big Max too straight:
Syllable, word
& the tumble of lines
come from places wider, deeper
than head & heart'As wide as God's eye.'
'To love so deeply’: whole
Blood.
(But there's a craft, even of
Dreams: freeing up
what’s already breaking
loose.
CHARGE / for monks
Pulse & gore of a naked
tomato slice
beckons;
angular violence of love;
Walk in the garden / murder aphids -
a Flower is at war
I won't talk about
beef. Gun
defies imagination.
A slug of cheese invites atrocity.
Now, go
back.
Measure.
For FAULKNER, WHITE MAN
"THE PORE SONS OF BITCHES." (What Ratliff said when Flem Got It from his cousin MinkWhere he got it, that demi
john urge, pile up the dirt
while the hole goes deeper
lay out the guts around its say
‘Look,
what I can't say, the central
blind lit country, frozen act'
(before Joe's black rush into
us
(What they couldn’t say, why he
couldn't: ‘Brother’
ii
(trying to get
out, even in two bad chapters
that almost advertised him there:
‘Let me find the word
I have surrounded it, let them
wait, I’m trying, the jaws
will free, I will pre
nounce-’
redeem
what rainbow flesh is born to
(Mississippi? with what? a
word, even that one?)
iii
A rhythm in the dust swells
breaks
the white mustachios drowned
coal oil flare, the word
was never act, but hedge
(and prophesy:
the bleaching violated land
runs down, chaos
of all human abdication
(The soul erodes,
murderous husks, end of the line
their frozen eyes dying
at what endured, became men.
iv
--what he saw
piled up what was
around the silence of his knowing:
breakers, myriad midge
glint, flutter & wave crackle de
fine still islands in the blood, reveal
Bounds
his bright treacherous now
hemmed with a devious was, black
nurse to his fated rush
no way out but in,
where he got it
quiet reek of the owning barn:
White lightning.
--Ron English
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