Sam Truitt

 

 

 

sunday, june 12, 1998

—for WD & JB

 

the skeleton of a single bird on a single tree does

make a spring

 

backed against memory of these things concrete

wall all is crushed before seen

 

what is that the pattern of sky as hue heaved in

branches leaves of beech trees sun and now this

one bird and now everything sleeping the grass its

own pillow like words that need no one around to

cut them

 

the wound is in my eyes sunsets bruises that guide

my heart if i can find

 

famous people walking through the lighted room

then stand in darkness looking in

 

warner is sleeping up late left his haake beck bottle

and bali shag cigarette pouch and jim is sleeping

and cherry and flo with a sheet over her face is

sleeping

 

what happens when you sleep is your body is alone

and all the arrows point inward toward the same

point

 

the mind a sheet through which light pours

 

the raccoon is not sleeping walks to the edge of the

trees and looks into the house its face like a

grandfather then a grey cat with white back legs

walks where the raccoon was sniffing. molly and

nora are hiding so there is this sphere of silence

that is not made of silence but stillness eyes move

in not breaking as much as weaving it and not

tighter but larger as though to site it it would go on

forever

 

what ideas are being cast around?

 

what is the logic forms of tongue confound?

 

a large diamond is buried under the ground i mean

under the ground so that you cannot dig for it only

get there by being the ground and then lifting

yourself off molly's head above the window sill

now looking into the trees in the direction of where

the raccoon was her black fur glistening

 

 

 

 

wednesday, july 19, 2001

fire on the mountain

 

like a red balloon emerging out of a toilet a woman

with a page of music open on her lap lip-syncs

gesturing with her hand

 

left is where my broken pinkie is

 

the ancient water breathing out of outer space

 

this book consists of

 

 

 

wednesday, march 10, 2000

 

two blind people walking arm in arm their eyes a

mess talking their sticks sweeping left right in

tandem

 

some would posit the one sovereign thing worth

seeing is inside us

 

move from describing to feel things climb the wall

built up inside us

 

most of life is invisible

 

most of who we are a story tapped on the little

window

 

to come to kindness through the blindness to

feeling through our bodies in all their explosions

 

on union square a replica of the maze at chartes

spray painted on the blacktop