This is not a waiting room
for souls. It is modern,
totally unwindowed.
The sun threw a ray away,
lost two rays it’s
raining here in the room.
On the beach it looks very
evening already, money
removed from the world:
if one travels somewhere
and back again, one is
always different—we are not
separated on the journey.
My mouth keeps spr-
inging open.
Everything does not
have to have
a limit
: varnish out,
dooryear—winter
ice is caught in winter,
I plunged myself but not
under. (I can’t
pull it out of my head,
can I.) Godthrough:
a word with a star tied around
it, it
has to hit someone.
Was such a storm
the trees fell over,
there was a storm
against. I have got a lot
more songs in my mouth:
Shudderhorror.
Souldoll.
Shiverbeard,
is there much enough snow?
is that supposed to be lakes
for the chessmen have
reached the bank?
Mother shakes the little tree.
Otherwise the darkness
will read it and will
remain dark forever.
A dream falls off,
a little shirt—
the sky is red. And
blue. How do the bones
get into my foot?
Ung-Ung-train,
Puff-Puff train
afraided me away.
No everything does not have a limit:
I saw that I lived
here. That there is a spider
in the window here.
That there is a mirror
here. Twinslight, the
tongue, the garden flowers painted
—almostyou: to
walk where it is very dark
and the small bell is
already hanging
in the air—
x
It is hard for me to make sense of this one.
ReplyDeleteThe poem seems to travel. From beach to winter cold, to lakes and garden flowers, unwindowed and window here. The phrases that are grammatically incorrect but make sense are fun, but they also add confusion. Is tottally unwindowed a room without windows or a place with no walls, rooms, and need for windows? Dooryear... is that a year you have to live indoors because it's so cold?
The more I think about these the more interesting the poem becomes.
Jimbo