Cupboard Feudal Song, With Several Of True Letters Mixed In

[jeff harrison]

what you carry in your clothes 
is not gold, driver, it's bones 


in my ledgers the State 
is so hot for, officer, 
each blunder is made by 
only five bales of bread 


bread blunders of orange ouch, 
vast, vast is the relenting dent... 
of that dent: I'm in this, & in brass 
& waltz-like of malignity, tho I 
called for something light, driver, 
you'll leaf razzle, rust and pocket 


this grows, out, map, out & into files... 
driver, whose visible groves were these? 
the missing accident daughter? well, then, 
her leaps MUST have been impenetrable... 


there was more than one? surely 
a couple of them at least will 
top this writing with wish words 
who half in kicks grow skill - hist!, 
someone rouses my syllables: 


wind my names up, you 
seaward grudge, you 
kissing-foot thing, 


move along now, 
missing accident daughters, 
your speech is live, mine 
is reluctant willows, Herr 
B's is flowers in hand... 


flowers & hand: they, 
the flowers, love hand? 


missing accident 
daughters, here 
your pieces roam to 
ghost that low form 
of Herr Bibliothekarius, 
so this poem's sudden guest 
can dream his eye chirps Logic's sun 
instead of Curiosity's eyes... oh, & 
here you'll think understanding away, Sirens 


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