Thursday, June 03, 2010


Writing do you wave, O wond'r,
water's blue cardiac over green,

you do not spell, you monstrous sit
on the dumb shore & pond'r

if this only coast is that o'er
which you’d break your prospr's word (you do):

Wondrous, wondrous. Was it
then this all-ey'd sea,

lawer to your farther shore,
that never turn'd a shape more

diff'rnt than what
submerg'd your own --

the first shore furth'r from that
which sing'rly broke in you, or was

another the world
made erworld by?

You stare to Ur & utter,
you wave your rite

to silent
be, to b', O n'w, O no'.