SCOTT METZ ant ant ant ant ant nine
November 17, 2011 § 1 Comment
A Sealed Jar Of Mustard Seeds
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bits of found objects that hole she left in me
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up among the dawn stars her dreaming hand
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falling through my side of the story blood red spring
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it’s always either the ocean or a mountain with her
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ants have found the freshness last night’s lightning
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weed it openly challenging the war czar
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an illusion of green the caterpillar’s comment
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peony night i lift the mask by the tip of its nose
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i say yes sir to the rattlesnake sign
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from pistils sky scrapers covered in vaseline
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new myths crawling slowing into the old heat
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autumn leaf already i am attached
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last of the ice he enters the apocalypse before me
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meadow speaking the language she dreams in
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the fog returns my carbon footprint
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entering through the back door eaters of light
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a comma attached to the tip of the flowering branch
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without permission part of me starts to bloom
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still cold the taste of the fan
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abandoned by an insect full moon and i
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last of the fireflies in my small intestines
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our silence fogs the window city inside us
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at the very edge of it all saplings
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winter day barely one language
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green noise the cicada can’t hear it
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the blood rushing through my blowhole winter stars
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a god that never noticed me before the peony shadow
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sometime today i’m bound to grow another string
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bright thick moss the violence in me
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a sealed jar of mustard seeds swift moving clouds
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sometimes the wind lifts up its wing to read
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invading another land crow caw
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trees almost bare touching you
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letting the lightning inside elephant cherry blossom
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daffodil scent no longer in the elevator
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the aftertaste of snowflakes pushing away
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speaking up peonies in my synapses
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inside a hotel of runaways glass elevator
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a dried up grain of rice clinging to the black sea
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perfume on my fingertips from the counter fading moon
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is it the wind god reminding me of her breasts
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coastal blossom the opposite of america
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what would the cicada think quiet nights
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could be her could be a firefly
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thru an eyehole the crow leaves a sea of skulls
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the leaf’s erotic story circling the hawk
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winter night she knowingly reveals another arm
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the war awakens the face of an insect in the mirror
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among the keys i took off black sesame seed
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asleep her fingers move on their own over moss
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the old train tracks end a nightmare of trees
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another day of snow my jurassic layer
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the only sound that’s come out of me all day firefly
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at this point i just assumed they come alive at night
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the string attached to me unraveling bare branches
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far enough into it dyslexic spring
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the sound of water i enter the spider’s dream
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walrus with its mouth wide open war statistics
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outweighed by the butterfly’s thought
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the word god being eaten by a field of robins
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HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant four
November 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Wartime
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February when people often die has come again
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Kubota Mantarô
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For my child leaving I pick moonlit eggplants and cook them
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Takeshita Shizunojo
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In the midst of layered spring haze a murderous intent
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Ugaki Matome
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The black cat too is painfully summer-thin in my house
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Mitsuhashi Takajo
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“Cease with destruction” “Cease with destruction” my heart freezes
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Kubota Mantarô
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In the pitch-dark room I remain leaning on a papered door
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Takeshita Shizunojo
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I fold only cranes with my child in the autumn shower
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Fubasami Fusae
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Under a two-day moon the Divine State has gotten small
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Watanabe Suiha
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All of them the writings my husband left in this seed bag
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Takeshita Shizunojo
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Survived: I sowed buckwheat and now it has flowered
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Hayashibara Raisei
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Hiroaki Sato, Translator
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SAM SAVAGE ant ant ant ant ant
November 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
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A small window filled with seasounds it lightens
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Everyone sleeping late
A white goat
bleats incessantly
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Rain at night
kept out by the dusty
smell of the screens
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Not anything, really
drifting clouds
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Waves
and over the waves
again waves
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A screen door full of holes a breaking wave
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Evening down a road where a car has gone
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Rain on a sharp field of stones
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Going on after waving to someone there’s my back
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With a raincoat and umbrella I go to hear someone sing
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Straight road, tall pines: a stray dog, taking it
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Wakened by someone scratching at the window it’s the rain again
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Hot night a yellow-toothed moon gnaws at the screens
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Turning on the light I become someone alone in the house
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Sleepless the sound of my eyelashes on the pillow
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Bus station toilet the backs of the men look like weeping
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the sound you hear
like lapsing handles
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or a vast propeller
turning in a church
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is lichen moving
in waves over rocks
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1994-1996