May 20-22 2011

Airy Temples

An excavation
in the ribs
of what you're worth
before you end up
buried treasure
good for no one

*

Forever may it be extruded
in the greenest dale
on the fakest day
through a lapdog's voidest meditation
this radius of pith
restrings your age

*

Between the blades
after a two-week rain
between the ribs
of a barbèd saint
a brazen pool
of faint deflection

*

A sick bird's meditation
at the thresholds of her pain
a blue flash under thistles
instantly still
as its shadow stalks
and whistles

a name
that belabours
and beggars
the rain

in elevations of a hybrid rose
from beercups propitiating ashes.