Monday, October 21, 2019

Robert Frede Kenter - four pieces

Writing thru reading 

Of habit and trespass: archives
libraries of professors, scolded
(Her): in the spaces of liminality
(His): courtly reclusive spinster
in white by virtue of – people.   Like
intimate households, three meals a
day. To keep clean. Celibate – tracks 
release the task of running 
larger homes ---

the memory 
of Christopher street hot
Village pier.

what of my cools fingers
at curtains. Another solemn
intervention – tooth brush crown
evades stress – villages attend
resident prompt, the   pause meet  
morning  -- waterlilies 

backward sky -- fraudulent 
believe inductive haze of 
Child wine as brave
pompous bosoms

Side of a house – to talcum life
tubs of water. books 
and abundant paper.  avalanche
down side street, up stairs.  sleds
down hills, steam. Language promises 
anguish scolds. 

Desk Conjunction Rote 

Little children coats falling wind blowing door open
Sit black spider widow window shall be strapped.

Front room teacher radiator steam too hot
Cannot breathe throes of constant suffocation.

Boy shall never learn satisfaction   ever
Retinal nerve clearly animosity is a compound word.

Spider web sticky stuck    it is it is it is
A stick stuck it is it is it is a spider web  

Odysseus Equine Road 

I can’t deal with the dealers of death. They asked me, who frightened you
They prepared rabbit stew. Dynamite me out of a trench, my body covered in 
liquid honey for ants to prance. To prattle. O she is so marvelous. There is none 
like her. Encourage short-stops along the road to a stage show. The Sage Empress is 
never far away from the Jack-o-Lantern of theorizing. Pour cold buckets of water over 
me. Like Niagara Falls, its all been a sorry spectacle. How many times do we need to 
watch it? On the promontory, shadows fall. Cascading. Twilight. 

Plum. Age

Anonymous shape-shifter she carried concealing farther
Messages, a metronome, mechanical as reasonable
I said, I’ll lend you fifteen if you give me twenty
One at a time, for every day, a carry-on bag for the bay
A satchel of plucked chickens, a sponge, a basket of plums
To follow someone down the follow spot
I follow you who follows

Each bone has its wish, I who collect shells for the long and tall game
Sail across the ocean to you, sail across the ocean to me
Riding the plume the waves cascade
We are hidden inside the mist of one another’s pockets 
Coats opening vows accelerating 
Like I into you, you into eye, painted nails black as thread
Through needle’s need less heed herding Eyes, aye,
The haystacks on trucks over mountain passes patches of fog
Dissemblers embers of fire
Suffocating matched abjure

The jury bespoke evidence of structures
Strychnine tinctures embedded in straw wagons
We’ve run a fowl of sleep, we’ve run afoul of sheep
Jumping over fences in a father breath
That held you closer driving even faster
 When is it all about the when we take the time when 
 We take the oars  Gas-Food- Lodging 
Out into the water, the lake of murmurs
Rumours of food as love, filled up on 
Food and sacrifice, the sacred scars
(Rowing) kissing here, pleasure unravelling
When one turns around one way the unrivaled road
turning into another, and another, and 

A maze of ducks, a line of music
The harp lyre on String Road
Liars in rowboats dropping flesh bone tattoos on arms exposed
To the lips of the aching watery clerestory mythology
Because Daddy drove a self-driving truck
Coast to coast
And I left from there
Fog embankments on each side

Quilting stories in a needle’s eye
A needless headless hedonist
I am the One He Who Rises

Imprint on a bed hand prints on flesh
Of ownership, scrubbing off radiant fire
Pouring alcohol down into the stand-alone 
At the Motel 6 in Swansea Bay

What happened here is transported far
And away has no precedent 
To a prescient de-clutter 

Nothing but transformative sound  (if)

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