Sunday, March 9, 2014

A Woolgathering Exodus

the compass is stuck; 
direction destructs
petty for want of maintaining a precedent
the canopy smirks at argument

a verdant recess worthy of still-life
feet on new floors & the charms of an aleph
genesis in the occident
parenthesis of a continent

allegiant to the idea there is only a right place
eras inside themselves, unrepentantly effaced
I clutch my few, who stay with me like an aura
& tend the garden well, giving rime to the flora

the compass is stuck
the lamb is amok

the compass is stuck;
directions destruct

Benoit Pioulard

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