I loved the eyesore opulenceof his five partial cars, the wonder-cluttered porchwith its oilspill plumageFive Houses DownWhat grew there grew in tangledways, minor thrivings of thorntrees, shockedcacti, tumbleweeds maddeningpast in the cages of themselves, everywhere a sense ofsharpness and thwartedness, he the lasttwisted try of it all.HermitageMild merciful amnesiathrough which I've movedas through a blue atmosphereof almost and was,how is it now,like ruins unearthed by ruin,my childhood should rise?Lord is not a WordIn the waiting room, alive together, alone together,bright hives humming inside of us, in spite of us . . .Dark Charms
