[Here is a deep pocket's worth of Seth Parker. Editor of the Skein journal...a long-lifed, hand-bound publication. Visit him in Marietta, Georgia, off of Lower Roswell Road.]
SUNG MOUNTAIN
I’m a bed that cried
I can see the starter-butt
darling ass
I can’t complain that the pain in a horror
walkin’ in the seashine
darling ass long as Hugo
And what do I need?
To know
-----
Bits of red hives
alone at this lonely babe-lock
no one’s too Blaine
there’s a fight reported in the wash-drive
his MoonPie, and the roaring
it saw some powers
bland and red kimono
this wild thing on the rung
daughter-butt
-----
My days, a lawn
I went to found
I’d replant the garden wall
wear an unlit kilt
an ancient mane
bathe alive in roil and wonder
the bountied labor
every man in swich licouer
common through it all
who could complete the river Seine?
memory rush over me now I step into the Sun
INTERVENING MYTH
Break the calf’s neck
by the river, the gleanings
of a vineyard
The tunnels bust with
mirrors of a hundred bronzes
Alpine, erogenous
vista, remark this door of smoke
I guide my fear past the glass Her
On a cold damp night
you misjudge glass for
genuine flesh
[Untitled]
Lo-fi lonely sai
password white
now you move with the Thai
white nights
[Untitled]
The smiling face is a frown, can bring
love within a mule
Bride-days ahead,
bitter tears course through life
because life is OK
A smiling face you don’t have to see
wears a Christmas chain
SESTET
The tragic mind is breaking apart
and the hind is melted
becoming, who knows?, beheaded by light
everyone gets fluid in the dusk
and they break up with their girlfriends
every day
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