Cabal

New green life is pricking the tussle

awake to tense melodrama. Veined

impressions come briskly out a keen

mind to discover exactly how truth

is figured. They’re so preemptory

down there, I get speculative and

wonder what happened to invest their

minds with legends of garbled lore,

who did what to whom, part timorous

part sullen, try huge tips to the

hierarchy to no avail, or maybe that’s

what they think I do. Let them let

it break out in small tongues. If you

break, break now, they say cynically,

who only wait and stand. Seeing nothing

from this point of view would be more

dangerous than a move from linked and

brutal continuity up a canyon.

It’s endless scrutiny, characteristic

of the Age but without the sweet

agitation of Empress Eifuku, for

example, which to conceal excesses

demands you be there an early literary

life. The jag of books we had it,

baffling and capable, now vanished

in the past. Never acquired or fancy

money, not really evolved, rather like

momentum extolling events in a wider

season such as nocturnal desire and the

passion of a sleeve. Living on the street,

that was it, or something like it.

Assurance was frequent because you were fast

to what happens. Apperception includes

the feeling of life you were building

giddy in the morning, can’t figure why.

Then rays became rods so dangerous that

suddenly Nature the way you love it is

acutely beautiful turning crimson and

man-made forests into something deadly

but never like true forests of stars

above your head, and you who also know

this, decide for yourselves. Anguish

you couldn’t tell one night, or betrayal

if we really studied it, have made the

latest news of phonological and semantic

structures different. Language taking

over I can’t say, but it’s radical to be

unchanged in color, all the world with

lights and warnings, theirs too,

flowing with song, meaning the sequence

was modeled on parts not always whole.

Yet notes are joy, are healing, are heard.

Dear Male Poets: I enclose a leaf

and make you see insistence is human.

Or I point to indigenous spirits and

the like, angry spirits if you want to

talk about ancient infusions. Sadness

in religion is surrounding what you

represent. Turn it back. White hair

is brown again, wrinkles smooth to silk

and a dead eye sparkles. Adults are

children like you. Never arrested they

love inhabiting buildings all shapes

and sizes, and being attached to illusion,

darken the rooms with inclement behavior,

cajoling me again now and then,

jilted in the latest cabal.