Dana Ward

 

 

The Glass of Outer Weariness

Are the flowers you’ve brought to the surface to wake me, are heavenly flowers, are they an excess of petals, oblivious turn to abundance, the ground of the flower of envy.

Is the aspect of sweetness compressed into sea-water breath, as one would bring air to the surface, the shoulders are wet, if this were a pool

Would I feel a flower so similar to aberrations of color descending to roses, as I would so love to be changed from my likeness to what would disrupt a false equity.

 

 

A Mandelstam Alphabet

 

A classical spring's dry gold

B oth the sea & Homer—all is moved by love

C ast, hollow, suppourted by no one

D earest of all to me perhaps

***

E ven sound can pour into their fingers,

F lowers heavier in those veins.

G rown up, I became an eye-witness

H

I too made mistakes, lost my way, lost count


K
L eafy headed horsemen fight in flowery flourishes
M
N ature is quietly fading
O
P


Q uietly, quietly read it back to me
R osy foam of fatique on his sensual lips
S o for me blue polar foxes may shine

 ***

T o extract from the reed one whole note's richness
U nsculptural, unaccountable-

 

 

V
W hen, on my lips a singing name, I stepped
X

 ***

Y ou chase the sweetness of spring
Z

 

 

Advanced Guard


The water is actually pretty—the strata against which my lean makes a few. I hear a Rome conjured in sycophance even by those who deny us our pie. The pie that I'm thinking of flutters with turtledoves baked to supply a brass ground. Ok, Rome, in a lot of ways, yes. I mean Rome is important to me in some ways. It is, in a lot of ways, harder for me, hard on the ears, this whistle that burns in a two-throated song, one that I give to my pen & the other tied softly around your fixed star. I'm like, in a lot of ways, losing it, virginal, just to come Romanly, first time alit, first time going dim for that matter. It hurts in this way like the premium bookings, the reading we get on our knees, the first reading I'm losing my flowers all over the place. Its like that in a lot of ways. In some ways or in this way. In a lot of ways saying in some ways or in this way I. It happens in some ways. In a lot of ways. In this way I wonder why, "in some ways" & "in a way" but, I hate, in a lot ways, everything, no, its the pictured modality leaving a porthole & one foot is out as the mouth commits vehemence, sunlight, the blackish sun out of Nerval & tradition, Rimbaud, in a lot of ways, saw it. I hope it happens again in this way that I can understand, or that I can place outside of Rome. I mean Rome in this way too easy a stead. Its just in some ways my behavior is loose.

 

 

The Bad Days Will End


The bad days will end
and because we will end them
I say we put all our money together
get a big bottle of sangria
and just bash somebody in the fucking face with it