God / at dawn / dispatches / me / to wander / the / cathedral / lawn
Have you not heard? Have you not seen shadows in the tower?
The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower
And swing I know not where
I, their slave
I entered the broken world to trace the visionary company of love
I know not where
Its voice an instant on the wind
My word I poured
But it was derivative of the judge
Whose clear word strikes wounded hope
Mortal love stirs latent power
. . . and builds within, a tower not of stone
. . .
Gravel heart, let down your guard
Look down from shadows in the tower
Eyes enshrine the lake of love above
Let it fall
“. . . how do you introduce yourself to the darkness in the world . . . and how do you walk away from it and have something other than despair and grief to speak of? . . . you know, we have a way of talking about beauty as though beauty were only skin deep . . . but real beauty is so deep you have to move into the darkness in order to understand what beauty is. . . .”
In the city, in the summer of the city: record weather; the war is everywhere, unsaid.
On the outskirts, at the railing: real leaning — it’s no postcard; you’ve seen the shadows in the tower.
I hold your arm like warm marble: holding on — dead center; your world is knocking on the air.
Are you coastal? Are you wayward? Mid-Atlantic, unstated; we seek the uncommon era.
And we can go there . . . in a Hart Crane Pike in a fugitive moment.
Black glass and white metal tied up in yellow ribbon; the less we say the more it gathers.
Tunnel vision and blood libel; holy rollers and show trials; I see the angel in the tower.
And we can go there . . . in a Hart Crane Pike in a fugitive moment.
We’ve seen the night . . . lifted in your arms; you’re still as stone.
Into the eye . . . of darkness made visible; and we’re lost at home.
Can you concede . . . there’s danger in your innocence? And can you believe . . . in someone else’s . . . ?
Can you believe? . . . Can you believe? . . . Can you believe!? . . . Can you believe?
“Don’t worry — I’ll be your Neville Chamberlain . . .” — La Snacks
Frau autor’s Mein Furst Bukh . . .
I don’t rekommend (“Rekommandantnicht!”)
but do (“Abaicht!”)
rek “Good Boys”
but “Cancel Me” (“DieShandafurmik!”)?
about “canceling” (“Dieshandarung!”)
you choose (“Abdaichtodanicht!”)
“And if you hate my guts . . . it’s nothing unexpected.” — The Koopas
“The Broken Tower” by Hart Crane @ AllPoetry.com
¶ “Heart Crane Pike” by forgetters @ YouTube.com
¶ “Transcript: April 30, 2010” @ PBS.org
¶ [“Honor Swastika”] by “LeftWingNationalist” r/redscarepod @ Reddit.com (Section 230)
¶ “Kristin . . .” by La Snacks @ Bandcamp.com
¶ “Daddy” by Sylvia Plath @ PoetryFoundation.org
¶ “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath @ PoetryFoundation.org
¶ “Good Boys” by Honor Levy @ NewYorker.com
¶ “Nothing Unexpected” by The Koopas @ Bandcamp.com
Sep 2024