Treasure Island

Warren Falcon

(04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

Evocation of River and Spirits


in this city

to guess

having no acumen with
numbers and math but
father's over there
in the cup tilted
over
spilling into

o endlessly
it's seams

it seems
from river bank
into memory which
is - already
over-said
overheard redundantly
as 'river
and time'

- this one
now recalled
to Mind, dad

dad
the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
(both sides)
is as ancient
as it always was
& is

as in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, any word
really would do it,
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
circumstance,
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -




Palisades cliffs
above bridge tilt

toward, always,
currents,

the river
over-

flows north-
wards

tides rare defy-
ing the moon

that other pull,
you

live the other
side of

sand
the palm sewn

swaying adhered
to Mind

x 1

still, to pass the
time now

x 1

the sooty hand

x 1

over black
'mouth'
or word
allude perhaps
to river's at
city's start
up from water

the silver bay
capped, remembering
frigates

x countless

ferries torn

and Tories be-
tween seas
wars
vast to
the east

x duplicating

waves, stretches
the narrows,

the necks with
rocks strewn,

the lonely buoyless
waves over depths

their vespers
intone

once was laughter
spent

seeking out
between bodies

continents
valleys eternally

shifting eluding
rapture

x 1

whisper

contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching

x 2, the clappers

x 20,000

(of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say
(of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used)
of infusion
into cuppolas

the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end,

but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak

tonally only

overtones inviolate

in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into, quake into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
&
annunciant round
of hammers)

so many dawns

x so many goings

down of the sun


x fortune the lips

x myriad ones gone

before of murmurers

O lover

of thee

I adore

in timbre

thru the

window rings

the arms too

wring out

breath to

breath

x no more

embraces

into indolence




This, just to
reintroduce some
levity

for we (loves)
were many day-ed

x merry

we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved

perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness

x 1 too many breaths

exchanged, groped

x many ropes all our

wanting




father loves
with his cup
his pipe songs
of love
of love will he
dance between
the violent fasts
from love,
our mother,
with,
fast around around
& around the danced
living room
phonograph brass
loud plays
where June
curtains sway
me and Mr. Miller

I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel, (upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts

FACT

that there was love,
there was love after
all

I can see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the living

one dropp Mr.
Maxwell holds,
hold on to &
upon goodness
brown pulled
from below down
& dark into deep
such this is
the riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love

since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then by 4's
these father
memories
torquing
the

door which once
embraced you now
never lets you

go

x brooms

or releases

now you, love
are new memory
hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filligreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly
x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
letters,
no matter
the black or
blue tide

of thee
O lover

what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis

lapses into what
self is

uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces

faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss

beside the flue

glaze upon the
pane

the black
mouse remains

stays,
is many,
a multitude
of petals

x 3

the jasmine
unspurned
at last

at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen, as if
to kiss

x memory

x Maxwell the

house the cup
O Mr. Miller
an O'Day serenade
plays close
...'Hi ho trailus
boot whip
boo boo daddy
floy floy'...

the late night
suppers of chops
the peeled onions
the laughter the
potatoes boil
& bubble in the
pot then
father
to dance
the butter in
the sizzle in
the cast iron
pan

their vespers
now descant,
descend
...'How high
the ocean, how
high the moon...


hungry
the
dish it has
all become
feast for
black 'mouth'

& mouse makes again

x 3 the antinomies

a string

of pearls

anemones

& thee O lover

bring all them

back, so many,

to me now

x Pennsylvania 6-500.

Submitted: Sunday, February 26, 2012
Edited: Sunday, February 26, 2012

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