Earth Remembers Its Birthday

 It’s a very experiential anything,
 I say, I know.  For the most part,
 borne of something else.  Unmeasured,
 but somehow lagging behind in
  
 massive subtlety.  All the new music
 is about Adam’s violent side.  Comes out,
 once in a while, like a driftwood chill.
 And when the hectic lean, oh,
  
 I feel wood.  I would separate frost from
 dog if I could swear on cold.  I want you
  
 to meet the others. 
  
 *
 The sound of incantations
 The sound of craving prayers:
 over one’s sun
 over one’s sun
 over one’s
  
 death makes flesh
 go up.
  
 *
 I think I saw you once—
 in that room—the room
 that takes so long to write.
                         (I think that gasp means you’ve guessed it!)
  
 *
  
 Different in Winter
  
 In this world of faulty shoes,
 eyes move faster than allegro & fall
 into laps of moist garments.  Skin
 sinks in—stretches and attaches itself
 to choir bells.  The martyrs, 
  
 with scissors, look over the water
 as the wishes come in.  Fish sleep—
 hiding inside a new approach.  
  
  
 *
  
 Si ne suis, bien le considere…
             I am not, I am perfectly aware of 
  
 how the accordion tore its rib
 and gave it to me.  (why complex(ions))?
  
 Something must be said—to end
  like this.