A little bit of legal left I call it mist
you call it sun in water vapor spread
honor Brownian movement throw old letters away
don’t let me into your archive
a rat in grammar
in mesh of syntax mother-naked
the one foundation of your house
Szymanowski’s lost novel an alchemy of sound
or sugar candle in the god wind whoosh
Zuk he did it and bade me to L.Z.
less pants more paunch more tune than tenor
the Romans had no word for it or kept it to themselves.
Sea pink was his poem I.H.F.
and a stone so stood J.M.
braving the Pacific calm
Hebridean storm St. Kilda’s poisoned by birds
my week in Scotland original Annandale
no need to tell you circus tales
sex on the floor while Abbot Sturlo watched
a fish in the sky its shadow a cathedral
did you remember to count the waves
they too have a cycle surfcasters ken
home in wee hours with creel asquirm
this is my theory of poetry.