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The Poetry Of.
.. Gwendoline Karas


of different use

came upon a
wiseman
squatting,
brown
-withered
as a limb
displeasing god

I stared at him- got right
down,
stared
in his prune
face: hey,
old man-

after an hour or so,
hey old man--his tongue came out
six inches,
touched his nose
let out a
cackle,
hoot,
and shot right up

son, tongues are great;
wasted on
words, why

look----his legs
shot
into air,
his red serape
shucked
to bush, on
tongue he hopped,
laughing
the
while. I came,
I said

to ask
what is

forbidden


--what I heard
were birds disturbed; birds know
what takes to air
what
stays on ground--- and
snail sound
of that
tongue-walk.





greatness big and small

forget about
caesar

started with seven
hills
then
grabbed the rest, at best
he was a
pig for land

world as
truffles, what's to
that- it's flat
out
ego, ergo

think
of someone
pliant, gives his
cloak, his love
his life
like
damien-

-that one lived with
lepers, said
you lepers, you
then 'we'- a happy soul, had no
luggage leaving
just a
wave
goodbye, no hail nor
hale, had
just
the softest hands-

even
-without
fingers





the big machine

reading a book
called gob's
grief:
story of a
twin,
whose
bugler
brother of ten, takes it
in the eye at chicamauga...

how a
boy
spends his life
constructing
a machine to bring back
the dead
and I wonder

what little difference
there is for any of us?

building,
building
yesterdays and
people lost

how
all eyes
have been claimed

-what strange
gears
turn- with
what delight-

what one-winged angels
stand,
one wing,
one arm folded
over our
beds at night

-what
bones
we roll

under high
and knocking
moons



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