Subject: Abraham

From: "max douglas" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sun, 25 Mar 2007 21:54:03 +0900

The edge of that other square cut from the right
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Snow haze gleams like sand.
The line between the outside and this room
The pain of being born into matter.
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
High on this surface, guarding the edge of P?e
To a higher level of appearance.
Rain. We are forced to fly,
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,