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Five Poems from A Diary of Slowly
By Anon Biasch
from A Diary of Slowly 44262 Pulling up wet moss bricks along the edge of the fence :: The clover carcasses white-naked in sudden light :: the passing through disrupted by an urge to change Even after the years of steady weight, the soil-under is not perfectly formed :: the scatter of unknown insects burrowing before the catch of eyes :: the barren is replicated :: they must have something against the sapien- stenched air In a day or two this will again be different :: the wet dark and its worms will reorient after surviving the avian shadows trespassing briefly along the edge of spring The overlap of cycles should not still surprise us :: after a few years the pile of brick will have sunk a centimeter into the clay ground 44263 Jaundice of long light at dusk is what my eyes fixate on before exhaustion :: genetics age and brittle like we do :: no one professes to understand how the accumulation of subtractions leads to blindness :: it must be the light that has changed For years the road at the end of my commute home did not change :: but the darkness started holding on :: structures are built to withstand this, so I am told :: but nothing The fading and the blurring and the slowing down are all aspects of longing :: I guess it is probably not too late to write everything down :: after a night of rain I would expect the black road to be black 44264 Collapsing :: bodies over moments in praying dreams :: there is no one aware of why they are waiting :: The calluses cluster in tight lines over hands :: we are aware of patterns of suffering :: but still we receive them The two old bodies have also begun the process of hardening :: the malleable etching over faces :: they pray for a balance :: we have only now begun to admit We always time our walks to ignore the casual ambulatory approach :: it is better this way :: shame is an ageless pattern :: an embroidery of miss-sized nails :: we will have our proportion set in time :: or we won’t 44265 Papering over :: darkness and intermittent water painting over an old moon :: to see here is nothing :: the viscosity of the sludging whiteness is part genetic and part arrogance :: physical words physical language physical god :: emptiness is that edge where the water resists :: but what can it do against saturation :: you were walking as if there were partitions :: the silence is the naked but there wasn’t :: clothing words over our faces :: at the same time we are stepping toward the outside we are done 44266 Children bury Children under piles of leaves the constant mathematical pattern of cracking today the syllabus is not concerned with death today the scented inhalation of hard organic brown the particular is the make-up of a face both protecting against and covered with sound today tongues sift the thick air and permanence is at once attained and lost darkness darkness darkness cough cough cough
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