Jenny Drai

March 23, 2010

[from Visitors, Cavaliers]


1.

went to the door  : a little thin :

& opened

flax cream light & peeled   : widely open

glass persons who   : not stained

incarnadine inhabit me

:

are not unrelated to memoirs, of passing through an age,

plait-spoke, feverish

_________________________________________

ever-soak this circumspect /

silence-eye

tears you elsewhere like historicity

(forward free the mastiff is loose among the eaves)

emotions of the warfare I grew up upon, if I didn’t

then flit among the wild & unbrackets,

the red stains of flowers & tall grasses

knowing a submerge-ment

resistant of photography memory annals to alleviate a subject

waiting for a vacancy to open

within the framework of this day-lit moon [ impossibly ] on fire–

someone has a lot to answer for the informant

has destroyed the mastiff, the illuminated parchment

we use to keep track,

of the awestruck, the terrifying

brink-root I compose

as to how I disappeared but reappear again

amid the shade of two moon-lit elms–

I’ll meet you later at examples & not assume a plentitude,

a favor upwards from the new wake, the strong

red dream,

narrational

___________
passage of yellow

ribbons tied upon my mental capacity :

is stretched out

& hours of

day-was-light-laid-over

: to a voice I replay my staff

(forward free the mastiff eats out the carcass of a deer)

of some cities

at the walls

take place in fields, in meadows,

of species in the battles & the meadows

viscous, all the names

in white

sap of milkweed pods, put your finger,

the heaving light of butterflies, the sticky

in places.

Are places in the storyboard & divided in dimension.  I am salvaging

the papers we most enduringly require.

Uncanny subset.  Anthropology.


2.

did not want to share the information

: & how you put yr words against apples

bushels in carts of bushels of pears :

record diminishment, allow me

error & sustenance : are yr streaming out buds & dust is yr

: charging

measure in a grass sea, a battle in shade

& hardly to worlds in a body
_______________________

the epitome of our

converges, quaking in these garments

abjured, destroying

sustain, movement, can–where is this ash

contusion, this is (a-la-la, fa-la-lei) dimensional

sonance, abandoning the brackets

shackles manacles or I’ll be right which was a ghost

head, from everywhere



Jenny Drai lives in Irvine, California. Her poetry appears in or is
forthcoming in Calaveras, H_NGM_N, Monday Night, RealPoetik, and
Vibrant Gray, among other journals. She is currently balancing
working on her tan with writing a novel about Jesus, Gilgamesh,
interior design, and the fate of those majestic white creatures of the
frozen north, the polar bears. You’re just going to have to take her
word for it that it is all going to come together.

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