Thursday, December 27, 2012

David Tomaloff



             
            ERASER SPEAKS IN CLOCKWORK SPRINGS, LEAVES 
            FOOTPRINTS WHERE ONCE TURNED STEADY HANDS



AMONG THE WOVEN LEAVES

mid swallow,
my sandpaper tongue;

oo()())(()())))(()()(()()00

how everything that slithers
has retreated
to the safety of last year’s den.

and we,
an off-white,

like the volume
of stars

;  read & then whispered,
like field language in the fall


PLYMOUTH ROCK (alt. remix)

an opening volley;
a dirge, usually reserved

                 for a burial at sea.

a kneecap drawn
into the throat
;  alas, groping for thinner air.

how such turbulence
this far below

is said almost never to exist.


CRYSTAL COLORLESS GAUZE

lots of pretty radi0           [s],
             everyone wondering

what it is they want.

the long,
low, white buildings—
{}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{}
{}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
where there is sugar
& water
,  the sea

is a perfectly    idiotic    idea.

________________________________________________________
built from words found in WAYAWAY, Dorothy Cork (1972)


THE BUILDING OF A RIVER

a territory
beneath the skin

               ;  a rising motion,
               a crest of swallows.

if none of these things
is an answer,

then I am afraid
I have the questions all wrong.




    MOSTLY WE BECOME THE RATTLE OF MACHINERY, THE STATIC 
     & SEE-THROUGH SCENERY OF FURNITURE OR PASSING CARS


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