More samples from 'The Broken Bowl'

Document C


The sun opens its mouth over the bridge
And warms the eastern sky above
The ocean, which is mottled from
Talking to itself so much while we slept

Though this is only a way of speaking.
The sun opens up in physical moments
Through sensory mechanics congealed
And overfed, the eastern sky over

Memory and its way of saying
And arranging. And to talk about how
It is always an opera, monkey singing
Reason as another monkey song

Talking to itself so much while we slept
Filling form with hums and squawks
While I was trying to say, he was trying
To say what I set out to say without

Digression, analogy, but even setting out
Is the sky over the ocean, and the unknown
Taking steps to tease the unthought out
Of others, the thing recorded or wrought

Only accidentally may chance to notice
Something in the invented record of what.



Document D


The running: whatever service it may provide it stands in question
may invent and venture
learning under and catastrophic
what in times the shallow pools

Reflect upward having itself in no light and no question
spanning pages
lakes appear and unevenly there are lakes upon

Feeling that down in the fuel and function

Open upon the placement tall as countermovement and their casements

Running upwards

In question whatever service provides us pools and amusements

A question spanning services

Reaction can fuel or falsify—what the world sees
and entanglements spanning munitions as questions meant in mist understood

What about this reflex of the door open to silence and protect, science
of these bar chords
amusement
what about violins at pavilions

Unsheathed layers the mouth missing its voice
considered the something or other
pushing pins in its balloons

Pushing pins into the seconds are stones striking

One eye at a time, let them unfocus and watch what lines
Will help you survive
Crystalline operations of dreamwork.

And sleep them into tools

Mouthfuls of sameness alive and vociferous forest and the trees warm coil of what we may not believe

One eye at a time, a question spanning, as in between, feeling that down what believes us