Often trees are conductors of the absolute, the sidereal cuss
eternity. the blow escapes the rehab and into the fire as known
but
lost coupons short of your toaster of existence. the mind needs consciousness,
consciousness does not need mind. Bon Voyage.. when the body revolts within itself, and parts battle
parts,
it's the last revolution, the last pogo, follow the few that
have wisdom, don't let it deceive with knowledge, the brass ring of annihilation, you'll be recognized by a chip, and maybe it will be all that's left..

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Earle Birney (1904-1995)

From the Hazel Bough

Earle Birney
From:   Fall by Fury. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1977. With permission of the Estate of Earle Birney.
I met a lady
     on a lazy street
hazel eyes
     and little plush feet

her legs swam by
     like lovely trout
eyes were trees
     where boys leant out

hands in the dark and
     a river side
round breasts rising
     with the finger's tide

she was plump as a finch
     and live as a salmon
gay as silk and
     proud as a Brahmin

we winked when we met
     and laughed when we parted
never took time
     to be brokenhearted

but no man sees
     where the trout lie now
or what leans out
     from the hazel bough

Military Hospital, Toronto 1945/Vancouver 1947

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