Phil Cordelli
after
Roussel
Everyone is only a bad breath,
a tragic moment from madness.
Restive, gentle, manly
scholar,
for fertile scent a
glory, under elderly limbs,
used anew, at
cross-ways.
Various seats of wicker. A small plant in a
hurry to hatch,
dried soon and hardened.
Our regressive host
collects these bent dead
to chemically renew
the medium where formerly they had taken root.
after
Smith
Have you heard what tune the rat plays?
It scratches inside your mouth
pudding fume and fiber
for the seized.
Stars crawl from gold
and quake, given feed.
A feeding of purchase,
plural milk, single war side.
Factory. The child must be
stolen from technique, after or under
the birds, the creepers and suckers.
Sudden burst of green.
The sheep have left.
Last fleece rebellion
in fur suits, crap hair,
patent hives inside
building still concern
above jeweled rainyards,
wrapped in sheets and sheets,
almost entire.
Bent ice runners and older climbers
kneading open
shot muslin, iceberg boats
in chain, like flanks
used to raw solidity
and brown-shaded ridge.
Red at the interior
to knot this
exorbitance.
Operating table, all one can study,
one of the past,
crumbled.