OUT OF THE FOXGLOVE
Out of the foxglove let flow delicate voices
out of the ocean-hiss let silence flow
out of bluebells an unaccustomed rattle
words out of the horse’s mouth cantering in place
blasphemy from the harsh ripping of metal rivets out of girders
catechism from river-water flood call slosh and reply
karaoke from the sound of traffic rattling and honking at rush hour
high-C soprano note from a collective beehive in the rain
jackhammer presidential campaign speech clank and clunk clank and
clunk
high-pitched victory ululations kids leaving the schoolroom for
the playground
crinkly syncopated delicate percussion symphony autumn leaves falling
in a forest
tip and tap
toads’ preemptory silencing technique croak and countercroak
in the depths of night
a rolling penny on marble out of whose traction whole marching bands
cascade upward
out of a ribbon’s lazy rippling descent through the air
a light melody of languorous movement floating in space
from a steam calliope whistle the battle cry of giant sea vessels
erupting
from a volcano’s gastric rumblings the sound of wild stallions
en estampido across Midwestern plains at high noon
the crackling voice of fire across a virgin forest mountain range
as a young boy opens his mouth to try to express
his deepest inexpressible mystical experiences
to the one sympathetic listener on earth
whose reply is the long echoing mellow chord inaudibly sounded
in the open spaces between planets and stars
from the wail of a nail being driven into wood
the divine voice of the angel of death
from the sound of a leafy branch being waved through the air
multitudinous wings
carrying us home
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THE PRACTICE OF ECSTASY
The tea refused to stay in its cup
floating in the air like a dark sunrise
the space in the door refused to stay in its frame
and walked out around various people and things
providing a clear way through
little buttons refused to stay up and down a lapel
and formed curlicue designs on the side plaquettes instead
a general ecstasy took over
no one refused its invitation to drop their usual
concerns they unstrapped them unhooked them unleashed their
terrible tigers let their harnesses go so the fiery
stallions of their usual concerns could run free
the light refused to stay put in its place and visited
everyone’s eyes one by one and collectively
the wind refused to go in just one direction and so it
blew up from beneath and out from inside and
from the top down enough to loosen the hinges of
everyone’s preconceptions
we strode out for the first time unencumbered with fixed
prejudices
a sound was purely itself in the great orchestral
swell of things
voices part of the ongoing saga from the
beginning of time to the present and
tunneling forward
little tiny things refused to be overlooked and joined in the
general celebration
a shout went up in the air and continued
ascending
a blue ray fell through its center and turned it
into song
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A POET IN A DREAM TOLD ME
A poet in a dream told me she had
too many bones
we were walking down a corridor
“Too many bones?” I asked
thinking at first it was what she
meant literally too many bones in her
body then thinking it must be metaphorical
for something
“That’s what they told me I had
too many bones”
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