comes december ice
under a summer moon
when a bitter price
wakes the day too soon

DIRECTIONS FOR THE ILLUSIONIST
--------------------------------------------------------

UNLOOSE!

I will not have the cage against the aisle

NO LIGHT!
NO OCTAGON OR PRINCELY STRUMMING ON THE BASIN’S HEAD!

charms
low herbs
vapors swelling in the honeyed urn

UNMASK!
LIFT THROUGH!

The sand progresses by the fashioned inch

I WILL NOT HAVE THE SPIKE AGAINST THE CUSHIONED GOWN!

EXERCISE FOR THE ILLUSIONIST
----------------------------------------------------

These looks that mechanize our corner

THE BEAT
THE BEAT

reason to prejudice
the springing alarms

COUNT
SELECTIONS

charts for the meeting
charts for the address

THE BEAT
         SELECTIONS
                   MARGINS
                        DESIGNS

COUNT!
 we are purified
by the double stroke

selections

I
I AM  THE BROOM KING!

ROMANCE OR CONSOLATION FOR THE ILLUSIONIST
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To wake like robins hailing again ONE SUN

To be mad with stategy    a beggar among pirates on a journey
                                              for holy reward

To code without knowing the first beat of organic pulse

To leap the boiling pit and naked join the cheering tots who scramble
from the crumbling edge while laughter in the gloom below
assures the challenge of another task that molds the certainty of art  
                                        the hope of practiced deeds     
                            the risk and charm of endings fated to obscure

To sweeten the waters of joys forgotten

To make whole the redemptive love that never was

TO SPEAK THE WORDS that rouse the glory of a peace unearned
               a glory bid in simplest tones             THE PEACE

POSITIONS FOR THE ILLUSIONIST
------------------------------------------------------

I will not go there again

To the window
To the mountains that vanish whenever they’re
                 remembered

To the face that is more than the sum of its longing

To the book
        whose words are lettered on a ceiling
        that revolves and stretches to horizons
        darkened by the weight of merest being
        crushing light to build the making of a sigh
        a drift of tears
                      or wonderment
as questions bubble up  up
               surely
into traps of stop

THE DREAM OF J
---------------------------------

picture the vacation
the squared earth

CHOP!    CHOP!

nearer to the shapelessness
cleanse the root

DESIRE!

the merchant swimmer unannounced
intangibles of longitude
aprons surging
winds correcting for the backward press

CHOP!     CHOP!

oh perigrinations
boundaries drifting to the rhythms mark

DESIRE!      DESIRE!

chop

HOW MUCH FURTHER TO RECORD A SETTLEMENT?