VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Morley Cacoethes

Pebbles of Desolation X

Beechnut gum from my tobacco pouch

dusts these pitiful pulp magazines. Ol’ Morley 

waiting south to read, viewing southward, 

the papers and pencils and the heights 

wilt able in one day. My poor endeavoring 

human desk at which I sit so often during 

the day. I wave to all those snowy majesties.

Pebbles of Desolation XI

So I renege on some in Brooklyn.

The store he’s housed and got stuffed 

curses to see him pulling endangerment, 

her last agreed no more dead already. 

My father is a dream, long said any them, 

pale, he had it pinned to her last agreement, 

her con mainstream in him. I had been 

along to say anything from his bed 

and some confidence to the street.

A gleam in the front goes off in the gray 

darkness of the meat, but Ol’ Morley sees 

his bed sleep and steak cold swirling. 

The meat sheets around bareheaded 

and wants a good stuck to their available.

We had become such a vague ephemeral 

crowd that the down man hoped on our agreement, 

in the night under a loin street. A gleam 

has now completed its time butchering,

thin and pale, but our hands insulted in blue.

Pebbles of Desolation XIII

O haunted fools, we are you! Don’t swim

even a thousand miles away like a living message 

to a long letter. I’m right there. Every minute 

a thousand miles away for weeks. Don’t despair, 

mountains. I’ll take cups of hardships, but I know 

how I shall repay the saffron freezing in bondage.

I know how I shall ever haunt this world left alone, 

swimming to my mother to come from the burning river.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: