Home before Dark, Part 1

1.

it was late

the yellowing sky, scattering 

slate of cloud

snow whipping at the very height

jangling diamonded light 

and credence of snowman, joined--

and blank returning.

jumble and skip

the same bare place

Stars behind, 

Stars aheaD.

continuing, snaking, New Poem.

I did what I could do, they 

were all left locked up in the barn.

I had to make my way 

forward 

before i lost my way

the snow was deep and the pipes 

were frozen,

the tracks were soon covered over,

the shadows blue lenghtened 

into stripes across the way.

Blue stripes.

the light turned

a vertical thrust towards knowing

repeating enlarging idea

even here in the cold there 

was a numbing naturalism.

he was reading the book

the cracking made them turn,

falling from


2.
creating the language
blank in the reeds
the paintings were piled high 
against the sky 
He drew the little drawing.

It seemed a competing image 
to the one in front of him.
He could compound it in his mind,
the earth was being destroyed 
it’s order  

Beauty we were guided by
 lost and why it was 
Being destroyed.
Henry and company were Burgers 
watching on, silent going about their 

lost way, 
they were part of the Hollow men, 
some one had pointed out this 
direction before. 
There was a book, 

about Modern Men
and a War
This little picture 
this PaintinG might not do.
repeating, 

the pontification-
the dunce hat
the soap box
Jack looked for the reality 
before this mess 

3.

for the reality from this chaos

from this dump of old words 

and goings on the NEW 

WOrlD, worleD, twirled

flying rushing thoughts

It’s ThE EartH, StupiD!

turned round upon itself

turn, turn, turn

Sometimes Jack liked to paint

the scene in front of him.

Sometimes Achilles like to remember 

the scene, and simplify 

the arrangement 

things in the Imagination,

Crispin thought there should 

remain some reverence 

he, Jack, Henry, and the Company

had all--

struggled beyond, some failed at this

The Henry’s were struggling 

behind, 

Jack meant,

how could that foolin around 

out there 

get us any where?

well, Crispin was way beyond 

A job-- there was none for Achilles

He would write his nonsense trying to

spin it Rumpilstiltskin like into goldlike, 

sense but 

not the green cash 

4.
you have in mind
you had forgotten the real gold 
in this metaphor,
a meta beyond,
and you dont believe in beyond,

the doubling otherness of every idea 
in heaven of our thoughts
Heaven is ok 
if just here in my mind 
under my mountain.

Just dont make any promises
of revelation 
of apocalyspe of another’s promise 
fulfilled
This text is all you have.

Going on.
“If I should get there-”
Dr Kings promise 
I think maybe, or well I wish.
we had some rhetoric as that, 

to fire us up,
VarroooM!
A SonG, a narrative type road song
telling us some story! of--
quickly narrowing-- 

to dirt-- and repetition.
less and less, but
road curve in great space,
to oranging sky
SihouetteS