Book II

 

I locked the lightning in my keep, was locked up thus,
sm ashed by overload, the jagged
space set humming inside shimmered frequency, the treacherous
luminosity, aware that it, or something happened, was a dream
(so when you let the black dog out, brown dog comes back),
lightning hitting precariously clear, on shadows
of this living willfulness (what to do, where did it go and can you wait
here, now, til other dog comes back? You need the one that was; prattle, prattle,
or is time to leave, thunderstruck, parling, parting the tiny puddle of driven?).
But then, to hammer in the point, this all came down again—
a blue-white streak of immensity un con tain ed (sheets of ice;
must walk in spiky heels) a strip of eye, vibrating its cockled
stun, uncanny flash, and same flesh riven
electrically, pink tailed stars of the vast lithic industry with
this exact absolute humming as was, and was, and was inside before.
What about snow, skidded thoroughly, turn left,
I left, but why you turn the other way
you family picnicking in snow as if in summer field, crystal as
“the jesting air of the mountain,” up where heads are drooped
dismanaging, as something sounds—the other sides of words that are not
truth or fact or findings fine, but strike as vision strikes,
Nomadic forays in the workshop
of abyss. Here. In fec ted with these

tremorings of light. Simply look out, plus then to wake--what is awake?
In certain states of mind this wake cannot console.
The earth was comfortless…
Imploded, a spot irrevocable
and saturate.

 

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