New 8 CONSTELLATIONS - Beard of Bees · 2017. 10. 24. · repeats itself glotta lly, gurglely like...
Transcript of New 8 CONSTELLATIONS - Beard of Bees · 2017. 10. 24. · repeats itself glotta lly, gurglely like...
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8 CONSTELLATIONS
byAndrew Brenza
Beard of Bees PressNumber 119 · October, 2017
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Sagitta * you slip through my attention infinite mass like water through fissures of light only the dampness of your passage stays * * april shadows like sad rows * of shad roe in a fish case finite strands
of hair
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Pictor
it is
the
com
plic
atio
ns
of sh
adow
s on
a fie
ld
of sn
ow, t
he w
hite
ness
no
t whi
tene
ss, b
ut sh
ades
of
whi
te im
plie
d by
its
su
rrou
ndin
gs, t
he b
lues
, th
e go
lds,
the
grey
s of i
t,
the
stre
aks t
hat t
rees
, sun
,
and
squi
rrel
mak
e. it
is
not w
hite
ness
but
witn
ess;
it
is in
ters
ectio
n, a
n ey
e.
on cold days w
hen I strew the base
of my sw
eet gum
with bird seed
and my m
outh is host to that flit array of fauna w
hich clings at the neat lip of suburbia-- squirrels, blue jays, chickadees, sparrow
s (w
hite-throated, house and tree), nuthatches, hairy, dow
ny and red-bellied w
oodpeckers, morning doves,
grackles, cow birds,
cardinals, starlings, robins, rabbits, m
ore jays, juncos, finches (purple, gold, and house), titm
ice, w
rens, more sparrow
s, m
ore squirrels, and crow
s--and my cat,
though drowsy now
w
ith age, sits chattering at the w
indow in w
onder at this burst of new
s, then I am
the happy puppet of m
y home.
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Grus with Piscis Austrinus * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * FearedrivenTappingsOfTheBarbUnroadsKnobbingHeartampBrailikeOtolithsOfSleeplessInspeakInspawn:
para-more rays in the gloaming like phantasmal bird, fog-lit, frominside.
song of the blue-gut hazing the windows repeats itself glottally, gurglely like coffee machines.
like everything, the gymnastic walk downstairs to a table full of yesterdays, an alluvium of glacial hands
in the disconnect mounting into hardscape, and one more nut unribboning blue-light like another sky.
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Pegasus/Indus
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always, the always-humming hum of machines: you can hear it and it means, from street or yard, in bath or bed, through torn sheets of whatever sky, you can hear it; and it means home is a shape humming with machines
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to be the lost electric comfort of the sea-mother's womb, the cellular memory of her nervous system throbbing the sad lightening of new breath down the pure umbilicus of some blank throat you long for
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Virgo
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the heart—choked on thistles of the rush of anything— wakes to—of an—alien opacity— fields of asparagus creeping strange like fingered ribs beside new mountains of birdsong— with ganglions of internal light roaring from afar— its ganglions—the distance trembling with what's to be mirror— or among some—these honeycombs scent-tensed to uncold blights of fluted shapelessness— light-right into sentence—senses— census of—evolution's daily— liminal—end—or like the times—however many—this happened—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
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Cetus
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Centaurus ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
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what songs are left to sing are snug in a robin's throat, whispered there, practiced -- star- dust thinking
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Crater
*
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not o
ne
not o
ne
n n o
t
e
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let them go home, I hear it say; time is full and they are ti(me)red. their cars point habit-ward; their blankets ripple like tidal pools. let them go home, I hear it say; time is full and they are ti(me)red.
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ANDREW BRENZA is the author of the chapbooks 21 Skies (Shirt Pocket Press)and And Then (Grey Book Press) as well as the full-length collection GossamerLid (Trembling Pillow Press). He lives in New Jersey.
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