The Lord, a lamb;
the sun, nothing—
a sheep’s head
with a war bark,
a public hatch,
sad money,
or a hand with
a high fever.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 3 March 1659/60.
Mortuary
Would you choose one made of pine
and lined with resin? Would it be
acacia or whistling thorn, the honey oak,
the silver birch? Wind streamed through
these branches once, and swifts.
This one, or that, could be the craft
you’ll board, aimed past the chasm;
the last bed and dream you’ll row in.
In response to Via Negativa: Wind.
Kismet
Here is the bed they said
to lie in— until,
eventually, you realize
there is a window
or a door, corridors
leading somewhere
that isn’t here. Water
or wine? Stay
or leave? Wing or sea
might show the way.
In response to Via Negativa: Mindless.
Wind
Lo, the trumpeters give a sound
of the rump this morning,
a wind to the leg where a carp
is put into good posture.
My art is talk—
and after talk, the bed.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 2 March 1659/60.
[poem removed by author]
Mindless
Thinking out of the box,
my mind left.
Little to do but school a school in being,
a man buried in being.
Brain or pot? Water or wine?
Other things make a kind bed.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 1 March 1659/60.
Anchorite
How at sea he is, that monk!
Join with him and dine on herring,
chant and turn out to row
in a brave cup.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 29 February 1659/60.