Chinese Lanterns

In a poplar mist
a polar opposite

trumps intelligent design
through sheer forfeiture

anecdotally
like that guy in Mann's

Faustus--
the shells must

be saying something!
all those curlicued glyphs

and painted
bells!

let alone these
Boundary Bay fish coilers

we're erasing
underfoot...get

the luminol out
later, you're shedding

skin like
linear b here...a whiff

of red clay
and a transparency

is assumed then lost,
our faces

scanned as Cobbett would
scan a prospect from his mule,

(hay rots in the field--
thanks all night euchre/

Methodism,
it hardly matters)

and then a blunt assesment
bluntly deliver.

For you to touch the remote control
you have to touch

yourself first, but its
hardly a matter

of first causes,
tiny traces left are

not in themselves
an offense, and if

the endless and softening
imprint of appearance

avails thee not
what of it?

The ghosts
are knickers

in the trees,
sky pink

as an innocent
Christian ham...