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Friday, October 09, 2015

Listen to the Ground

The primary emphasis
of conversation always falls to sound
words in the wild,
so put your ear to me,
with an ear to sow what hunger brings,

listen to the ground,
to the call of the crow;
and the way the wheat is sown to grow,
how leaves tremble at the wind
breathing out the day's scansion
with hands unseen in all things,

put your hands on me
to find the acorns buried deep, and growing
trees hardened with knotted roots
hung down low-- hear them speaking
through the grooves of
nature's printings

to the morning growl of the wolf,
the first scented sniff
of hair and nostril,
the shrill of silent startled hares,
thump-thump-thumping at the ground
channelling language to the body, and

let the blue in your iris be sky
uniformly speckled with dazzling
kites flying; or let your eyes be the sea
and the boats of our pupils
something for us to sail by. And let's be the
zeugma utilised: Two thoughts held

manually together by one word.
And let that word roam free in its
nature, wild as flowers to a gardener's
knowing will: And seed in soil, let's be still
once the roots take hold, just smell the
world as it subsides on the
skin of the word,
kicking you all the time
inside. Swords cutting down the wild.

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