johnstone

Matthew Johnstone

Two Poems

Do not stare the ridge

The papers    can be wrong,            then begun to see small white pieces of god or city around which the god or city is accumulating, accumulated bright hunger “…to chase – to waylay – to overtake – to pursue…” in which alone is the sun open for everyone too arrived and some rust coloration, photographs of last years team a caption,      the pendulum is on me, I want this looking done to the walker of streets, to leather voice streak the rage for earth like you and me are,      adversary in your city,              develop yr claw,      quick kingdom be dim,              draw faster how watery is formlessness? Brown, the only dog left ticks by the window, rain plick every wood to gather over the fire. When the winter turn white I am sorry Jack Spicer. The South make hair shorter, Jaw tender this corpse was a coward you can tell.              Smoke earthly augusts flung themself at with calm both sides of highway. At the corner the house of chickens and geese near ocean. I’ve              wanted to tell you that for a long time. In honey, through the modern field with its being young with you the wilds either side fascinated, everything white Smell the air in the chant, blood moves faster the papers arrived. Do not stare continuously at a ridge, I know a plane an uneasy one. Do me favors.             Razor in the car,             Please make it look like early morning. Man in fog is collapsed in,             Through unincorporated land looking for the big spider Later a quarry, Eventually the country Almost liking a field together             Finding rose and trashbins to smoke behind Abandoned shade stories about a forest in May, Horn in the region How our corner place rang the town             A brush, The devil tail you call your mouth Took to swimming in, The meter of fish houses             Down at June’s The second hell is boredom, The first Attracted by round form locked in suns Such angel nuns             to mention liquor, Redundant because there is a flap a Tractor by lavender which grow now Rest on the bridge