News of the World
1.
A slug has responsibilities.
It must scale the tamarisk
even if, halfway, it’s plucked up
and placed on a leaf.
2.
On the road of serpents,
one encounters the moonstone.
Not always. But often.
It’s touched red, like a pear,
or a study of two pears.
3.
If a micromoth ascends
the heavens in the rain,
can Avalon be far off?
4.
The crab digs a hole
to forget his forgetting.
The Black Witch reminds him—
in dreams, or in daydreams
about dreams—of his forgetting,
which he remembers.
5.
I've been waiting for the rabbit
and reading Being and Time.
The rabbit doesn't read.
He chews and thumps the turf
as I search for one clear image.
6.
The green fields of August
won’t mend the past.
They bloom at last, bloom
real fast, like a sped-up film
of shadows over hills
or a fox consumed by ants.
7.
The ideas of ants
will devour the Sphinx.
Don't underestimate
their notional fervor,
their rhetorical bite.
It will happen at night.
It will be night somewhere
as they inscribe their oblivion.
8.
Even high-flying birds
need a rest. But
they keep working.
Like stick bugs in shallows,
or a termite thrumming
in the hallowed recesses
of a spruce.
9.
In this floating world,
the water makes its way,
takes its course, divorces itself
from the river it knew,
the one it was for a moment:
a flicker over rocks, a rush
through a sluice—the juice of earth
advances without remorse.
And we follow.