Tuesday, September 02, 2014

Tuesday poem #74 : lary timewell : the map looks nothing like the thicket

(for Peter Culley)

world down / stocks up, time to
thought walk thinks over

you can count on me not to be
the same in person as on paper


essence credo dwells as an
orphaned bird in autumn light

infinite cosmology of
detritus pond

boiling the phrases down to
the sparrow bone, down to

the personal opaque, the
what the hell ravens no



cloudburst over mirror puddle
& busted pay phones in the arbor

that other poet is the real me, see
him waving back from the daymoon

the meaningful wanders
as the afternoon (just ghostly)

turns a foot fall, suck of mud, sight
in siesta, myriad coastal echo oscura

writing present later in chlorophyll
sweat & the milk of fallen apples

always, each time, more than enough
sun to chamois pears,

the winks of cinders, tattoos
under dirt shirts, abandoned

bedframes, perfect &
inept affection

heart’s a hard breath now, all
pleasures evaporate, sing THE

techne    /   episteme

Heraclites of Wellington, Nihonmatsu,
Fukushima, the unbored because

each step exhales chord progressions
against the grain of cabana coffee tables

that hover low as the lowest Frisbee
skim over sleep-feigning wide-alert dog

thought being

of two minds to pounce on
the immaculate scraps,

lily pond to
lotus gunk.

lary timewell is a North Vancouver writer recently returned from 20 years in Fukushima. The co-founder and publisher of the late 1980s and early 90s Tsunami Editions, he has published a number of titles, including two chapbooks from Obvious Epiphanies and tones employed as loss (a section from molecular hyperbole) recently published by above/ground press.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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