benjamism

Prickles on the tongue




Drinking water only softens the fire,


and everything that happens in between -



the in's and and's formulate bridges

for distant countries

that somehow need to be connected.


Ballads of moral dependency echo the creaking of the floor.


When the fog stops staring,


I mean to say, when the eye's stop wandering


with their feelings over the surface of everything,


grabbing at the depths of a pipe, the ridges, mountainous pinecone,


it's alone, with you again, and that stark awe,


pulls on the contours of posture,


like the harmony of a saw eating threw a tree


That sort of courseness subsides in the smell of sawdust

raked across the grass


just as the birds echo the crimes of passion,


fusing tension and light, into the clammy hands of waiting,


and all a sudden,


it stopped raining.