POETRY
the vanishing and the wandering as a dawning within you
and we are things after this, the trial of horses
and the world who had thus only halfway been for us
and the other news arrives by whale, sick of its own ideas
are we here or are we as misunderstood completed
by all as the places we remove to and where white moon
I am the world brought to my mouth and then leaning over
off the plank off which all drops into unknowable numbers
and unfathomable complete we string through night
as time is now by its re-occurrence became magnificent and victorious
I listen to the world, it is your brother and mystery blue
and spires above the tongue, but I wont ask and never understood
the world like a swelled up dream immediately extinguished
upon arrival in the listening winds and all remains unknown
there is no mystery but a flurry back through to revealed moments
the mast, that is repeating and respecting the old blanks
watching the moon vixen, not wire and the trembling hand
of mystery through world, it is not right we know this
I am the last without this fear and have nothing formal
for knowledge in my mouth garage so I stand without wind or mind
by my better being, in a truck at the quarry, or whales reach the buddas head
the whole thing, the container world and contents, let us this as the world be
by that the ask and the other wills itself at us, false dawns, mansquitoes
neither surety not plane pretending so give us this world then, our begging tires
under the moon terrace it is we and they bending like wind
and that is we overly turning gut contents, let it nod the us and be us
and the moon trap in gas realms of the other believability
but the moon crumbling the moon marked we used to be
as an aspect by belief, old things in forgotten entire precursor
sending off as bees and us somewhere between and without remark
see objects cloaked in romance and we mouth of pelican and a drill of sky
some go into becoming we see though the world that reminds us of this
by Tom Blood