--- K E V I N   V A R R O N E

For Nicholas language is much more difficult than what he does in space.
Michael Ondaatje, In the Skin of a Lion

12.4

if an apple falls from a tree with leaves
if a tree falls in a forest that’s been defoliated
if sputnik crashes unceremoniously to the sea

(if nothing is plumb
then nothing will be plumb
then what will being plumb be?)

hindsight & midday. to a noonery, esau, I’ll take the culpa


12.5

idiom if you do
idiom if you don’t. que sera.

the senate hath debated &
concluded w/a motion & announced
the fact of us: vixerunt
(i.e., they have lived)


12.6

state of sky on the whole unchanged:
precipitation in sight
not reaching the ground or surface of the sea

but earth is always earth & air is all around
& the core of the system is stable


12.7

I saw the ghosts of lampposts light
at noon, saw rain
slick the boardwalk as it slipped from view.

what awaits beyond
yonder--what universe--
for us, what what?


12.8

they say orpheus & icarus turned to salt
for not wedding their lots in life
(& not having the good sense
god gave little green apples).

what can be said of me?

if you follow me north (695 to 95
to 495 to 95) I’ll drape the rearview;

if you fall into the ocean
I’ll fish for thee


12.9

in days of yore, before gones
were bygones (before our inflorescence grew waxen
& our curiousity one-sided)
people were judged on actions & the aesthetics of those actions

had genera named for them & their utterances
banked in mid-air & handled
& their turns of phrase forked their tails & tongues.

now the utterances have become disgruntled,
small but abundant,
not humming,
gleaning


12.10

no signs where the seams meet,
no schism in the joints of the sentence.

sting like a bee, I say


12.11

sky is no place for tape-measure or t-square;
my wings are tapers, my stone is at the foot of the hill again


12.12

still no decision from apostolic see
(though soon they’ll proclaim it dogma).

if we cannot compel wax to do what wax cannot, cannot
heft the world or word, what will come
for us?


12.13

those ignorant of history are bound to love the factoid.

come hither idus, sans fetters & tipsy;
the fall of man is lodged in my adam’s apple,
my swallow can’t find capistrano

& I’m trying to seduce you
w/morse code


12.14

from this modest height, the planet seems camera-ready:
the cosmos are quiet : tea & other things steep.

nappy gray horizon (where headstones crest
the hillock like scrapers & trace sky
                                    w/nuance)

could a tale unfold
if not for the tonsular lymph
& chyle, the gumption in autumn’s throat.

I’ll roll my stone against logic
& here’s my final aphonic voir dire:
it is sometimes lonely among men


12.15

the ghosts are coughing,

the city flexed
its skyline

then morphed into an orphan


12.16

noon may turn out to be an isthmus,

7 stars around the moon
more poetry than I can swallow

(some left for overs)

12.17


juncos on a sad penninsula
turn out to be canaries in the melan.

(the petals turn out to be tepals.
autumn is the squaw of my discontent)


12.18

(the map on my tongue
says I could only be here)


12.19

masquerade as, define as,
only contain what the outside world needs to know:

that is why he
is said to be anonymous on his way
forgetting


12.20

ere long, evening
(the difference engine)
will begin being binary
       dots & bits, will braille
       its glyphs

(as a curved arrow on a road sign)

& I will be threatening
            to change planets.

my mom is a sphere.


12.21

walk set route:
dogs, things, point, jot.
is this it, in the mouth, is it life
chewed over, mulled cider