THE UNFULL FILLED

and if it hangs in loxton like it hangs
in stellenbosch, this unfull moon, this old
obscurer, then may they afflict (these pangs
of wholeness) you. and you, as me, enfold.

NEAP

if fathers were so armed
she would be striding into the breakers
as into her father's arms.

this is a mere sea,
this a walk to its own end.

MORE THAN "MORE THAN HORSES"

every horse (as symbol) ought to crest
its summer hill, and every field must be
run through with shares. the belly swells, the breast
will soften, but no shade evades its tree.

GARAGISTE (2)

... which is to say that for all the density of my teaspooned words, for all that the nothing was curved precipitously to your void, that god's trigger-finger had been ripped from the hard hand which feeds, that the resilient vacancy of your centre was bound more tenuously than language between the molecules of the word spleen, which is to speak by halves of your holeness, for all my spat polish and my tuesday suit, I was the inept shoe directed vaguely at a cold hearth. I was a needle taken up against the fire.

GOOD MORNING ANDALUCIA HOW ARE YOU

campbell's sleeping, rabie's tending goats.
old man krige's trolling lorca's cock
as hemingway, to thompson's chagrin, gloats...
while nel goes netherlanding
(and leaves the last train standing)
I am left to watch the woodstock clock.