Places of Learning
I want to write, no thanks. The wind blows
sharp. Standards to be roses
I am leaving to look abroad into the fields
some with daisies, some with sweet williams
to be kept with cutting, that they not grow
out of course. Overcast days evening closes
for satisfaction sake. Stems are guilded
men handle it well within a suspect state
(Abel & Cain at their most primitive trade)
living in full view of heaven, open face
the convexity of heaven nothing but hillside
poles of the north spiraling trace
I am in an argument with music and its excellent
musician, I know only things better than I
having once been noted for a man of purest fiction.
The top clock is shivering, energies spent
only reading of phrases—Henri droops an eye
contemplating the Great Spot & the advancing Christian.
