Poem (Spiritual Investigations)

 


Poem (Spiritual Investigations)

There were some freshly cut lines from Baudelaire,
Run off but ringing our button’s filagree.

As in the flesh, we never tire of, but flashing
Like signals for approaching jets

Like windows in which lights are being turned on
And off at spectacular speed announcing

A murder within. The truth of spelling is all
We can rely on. Syntax is arrangement

Is there always arrangement? The list
Is like sentence only spiritual

Betterment is only the unknown as if
A curtain was blowing out the French door.

The physical is flying, will practice ensure
That darkness in the piano is warming

 

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