The Henry Green of U.S. Civil War Battles
O, the jollity
the jollity masked,
also with a dustjacket
of "Pack My Bag"
the waters of Nanterre
(translation of two passages
from Madame de Créquy's
Souvenirs), yes, but there's
turf 'neath your tent,
same as any camper
"Caught" (1943) was designed
to put a lantern in your face -
ah, your face was already day!
why abhor surprise
when it's the sole chimera
Fate provides us?
is not forgetfulness a surprise?
could not oblivion be the pounce
on that monolithic exposed nerve?
all surprises should be filthy with dust
falling stars never look for me,
though "Arcady or A Night Out"
would have them do so
before "Concluding" was
Nature's palmist, this 1948
novel was artifice's psalmist
..besides, "Mr Jonas",
I silent away among names
Why Wolves Are Like Playing Cards
oust out from double-crossed knock
who was to what awaits naked security
as no part for sufferance, Walt Whitman,
is to an old hand at boyhood rose's swindle
no threat, no matter to rain in custody
our gifts fall cold in places other than the pale -
upstairs, railroad ties snooze hand in hand
these memorials wanted enough earth to themselves
St. John Chapter Eight, Verse Six & Eight
ST. JOHN CHAPTER EIGHT, VERSE SIX
forage a range or an orange orchard
for Oriana, in a few words
ST. JOHN CHAPTER EIGHT, VERSE EIGHT
(")in a few words("), as dapple-dropt
the violenced rose, a prose stop, Oriana,
is the silence of the poem
[When Herakles Did Use To Spin]