#25 & #26

I. The Book of Jack
"A song / Which I shall never sing / Has fallen asleep on my lips." - Jack Spicer

I have this blank spot on my skull now
This linger of bad habit compacting on my top in fractures
Some light and a missing tooth, this makes noon hour

Often with my hair crumbling, or with Jack Spicer's new pants
They fit tight and tight and tightly enough
The sound of blank spots hits the crap porch, some sound

Where did the leaves of seeing and making real on the floor
Fits this sound into a picture into recognition into sound
The receptacle to hold the children hits some blank ocean spots

The ugly poet noon hour and a face fracture to tell
a shadow spurt of gray on sought goblet, Creely and Lancelot
Most loved and beloved leaves, take heed and hands and heed and hands.

II. Book Of Robert

Know nothing
Feels tender
Or
If a light
Still changes
Cross & be brief

Feel change like
Lamp oil
Make light, depth
Projection
Real

Some fumbling
Of distinct genitals
A branch,
A stalk, some broken things
unexpected

I try impervious dying
A flight
Out heaven & in silk
Depth like red
All my friends can help
dig
dug
Digging Lazarus up
Or Apollo
Or Donny Osmond
Or all things made real by speaking