Matters Arising and Cold War Sequence
1) MATTERS ARISING
To those which hold
one to another, carefree,
the fragmented is
a sun
is a flare in the distance
on an open causeway.
That day, you dived headlong
against a memory,
to which you dive headlong
repeatedly.
Rhythm is not the same as repetition,
I saw it in the eyes, the left
the same as the right.
That word change is only
affected change,
in place of change
giving off nothing except
the desire to be desired, as light
like a dangerous fortune
spent by palms,
lost in a crystal.
That you are not your own,
is covetous:
you chose your own
path
through time, but
they’ll say, someone else’s.
memory lies like a lyric
polished,
is the rush of these
petals that play
about the face.
3) COLD WAR SEQUENCE (I) An island breaks horizon and dangerous growth to defend with warheads wider than the sky good to refuse the lover’s vest on that morning panic in motion over a red hot button. (II) A shower between skin and skin, pealing away in the daylight, tower rising for, a god without a name an age that slid under a hollow sun, a man crawling on his quarry, these are lilies of the field: daily they reinvent bonds. (III) Four of them not one in a line concrete and collapsing into a future and what they were once to simplify. (IV) The end of days and history when what would have gone off just went off an anarchy sacred in my beat in this past skipped a beat better catch a daily rhythm it would collapse in order this tower to contain some kind of modern hope for the centre more generally kept. (V) Becomes a test for more hopeful calls to follow that simple growing entity, an endangered species, was never quite the event like a chest mapped the flaming tongues of what we were playing a screen between my hope and yours is normal and the sundown tastes. (VI) There can be no accidents in this time entirely at odds with roles we played as kids dressed in someone else’s memory rags he was to perform destruction then and there before it even happened. (VII) A nuclear deterrent we might add like a photograph summons the dead in a live way to an obsolete species that grows only in order to grow to its natural limits which might be the human tomorrow. But I live in the present at least I bend my back to that idol a kind of stain human at water’s edge the pebbles each a sphere onto itself a thick brow of a stranger like a ridge of sand for objects to go off in like as human as intention is despite irregularities in that metaphor, we had ignored all the signs to get here and pushed if not the button, our horizons and kept ourselves to each ignition.