Underearthed by JKD

After Amy Hollowell’s Part Song on Late Curve & Blue Mirror Song

my uneven hand branches
into the dirt we love
like radishes bright
red blush in the midnight soil
scavenging hunger thirst
bodies symmetrical breaking

Part 4: Song on the Late Curve, by Amy Hollowell

after AD’s Part 1 and Part 3 and AH’s Part 2


And on the late curve of afternoon
we are symmetrical, my love,
part good, part not,
two in one uneven pile at the window
outside and in
with snow, wine and song.

Part 3: shape shape mirror human song, by Amanda Deutch, after Amy Hollowell's Part 2

We are one
Part part
blue
mirrors of a
afternoons
hands atop hands
atop hands
atop
uneven song of love, my dirt
eyes, lips, voice, bone, branches
curve

into one
shape
singing
'we.'

To be read, perhaps, in reverse by JKD

After Lisa Pasold's Whoops-a-daisy..., Jon Wonham's In life the rampant mind has limbs and Tall Tale of Short Hours by Amy Hollowell

Clinging onto the rampant limbs
because these were things we would not do
not see not be part of not parting
being the thing passing through or
bygone

nights not anymore
risking time and pinned-together boulevards
the intertwined life of its own mind
when the red and yellow fall
in an orange nightscape

inverted constructs rattle and sliver
unseen along the scenic drive

elsewhere cliffs and ruins of old tunnels
tell me about the centuries of battles and treaties
of a cobbled route up which someone drove us
of myths and unknowns
this was haunting if we could be there

but in this small car on this wide and vacant road
there are only elevated furrows
extended courtyards
barriers penning in a preordained timeline
telling us how what was was

you, for example, whispering
words syllables clicked consonants left underground

so when I was there, later, I could unearth
remnants because things
like cut glass, painted pottery, bronze blades,
gas masks, spittoons, an ivory comb, dictionaries
that are left adrift never came back

because there were things we would not do
anymore, to hear me listening, to be
in the enunciation or simply riding
round and round on Bay Street, arms interlinked,
until everyone would clamor awake
dawn overbright in the joyous crowding

In Life, the Rampant Mind has Limbs by Jonathan Wonham

After "The life of the mind rampant in the boulevard of limbs" by Amy Hollowell, quoted from the poem Tall Tale of Short Hours.


In life, the rampant mind has limbs, the boulevard
in the mind has a life of its own, and rampant limbs
fill the mind's lively boulevards, as if the same rampant
boulevards would not mind the risk to life and limb.

The boulevard of life raises a rampant limb in my mind
and I do not mind. In life, these boulevarding limbs
are not less rampant than the most rampant mind
in whom lives and limbs and boulevards are intertwined.

Unboxed by JKD

After "After Lucien Freud" by Amy Hollowell, posted 21 July 2008

Unboxed.

Torn utopia.
Ancient in the unabbreviated shadows
of us.
Naked. Shorn. Ochre.
Dirt in place, or placemats where we are
thick cushioned folds of graced flesh.
What draws him to
predestined trajectory?
Full frontal reconfigurations,
as seen through primacy, mercantile.
Always consider the indispensability of custom,
body’s ancient remainders
barren with motion, language
as it is crafted.
Thus.

To unmask the implicit sky?