Leslie Philibert Poems

A burnt land; dark suited,
black with gravel,
frames deep in a white sky
...

Sucked out of denim and
cotton, half in running

flat over the bedroom floor,
...

That drinks the black earth,
tripped in its own shadow;
the sun eaten by fallen leaves
...

Dig out your face from under the black cake;
count the trees or break the sleep of stones.
Lost the harmed eyes of earth, voiceless childe,
hidden the northern god of wood and rain.
...

your breath in the night
as outside the rain
be kind slow

your eyes bohemian glass
...

(Get this right; an ethical trap,
a body count; working title..Lost Children) .

So it all goes to hell; a ring of heavy men
...

The weight inside a dive; muscles work against the wind.
Motionless ignore the reduced; a quilt of cornfields,
bleached boxes of barns; holes full of gravel,
a mess of houses and lanes. So when
...

I didn`t choose the words;
the words chose me.

Once you accept that the world has no meaning
...

The moon falling next to the Rhein;
a black stone burnt and chipped

as black as the night`s eye
...

A solstice of burnt oaks, a wealth of yews
that despite the ardent heat from yesterday
(more than a day old) makes the sky with lemon.
The furnace of the day`s heart not more than green shade.
...