GUY R. BEINING ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

The Back Streets Of A Snail

:

:

billboards

pinned to the sleeve

of the highway

:

we of one market

one leaf one fruit bin

await flies & rot

:

washes whiter

in quiet of evening

dark creak of table

:

bring me

the room of

a swollen number

:

in mock soup

& fan of turtle shell

sore-kneed Buddha

:

offer pictures of mecca

while playing a dangerous

game of marbles

:

bubbles that

hear flat skin of

sunfish

:

heavy black glove

nearsighted & brusque a bee

breasts pressing mirror

:

hand on

soiled number 9

paper off the roll

:

order of night

a hyphenated thought

left in onion patch

:

inhabit this

the back streets

of a snail

:

gets you no further

from nature to circle

the tree in spanish

:

white lips powders

space left by stars

fixer

:

in glass rooms air

listens to itself covers

of light fall & fold

:

a yellow ball from

the women in chairs opens

the crematory steps

:

draw space as maximum

silverware in her hair

& shells to eat with

:

words burn

a cut above the spine

sitting on divan

:

rush hours middays other

times black band around

the sky bright eyes

:

the membrane falls

from a table of ferns

stock multi-bodied

:

another charred

boat has left

the dock of dreams

:

open blossom or

bloom of voice

in insect light

:

and invention

nefarious angles in

bitter snow drifts

:

and long white wings

the estuary on

its dark toes

:

a circle of mirrors

shut out the stars

people don’t know

:

breath

the pin as ice pick

buying the night face

:

colored sharpness

of wild card in

stenciled parlor car

:

go toward

the buried side

of vision

:

dire briefness of

lot pocket it even if

it blackens the soul

:

the moon is not

a number it is a landfill

a gap in the eye

:

on head of mountain

grievous we have maintained

a private clasp

:

:

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