Bob Roley

the poster world

prior to inscription
            the stone    and with it

the pliant taste
            of morning
the bother with words
what's needed is not
                        and seeps away

came upon her unexpected     crouching

adrift in a world
                        of false gods inceived

an apocalypse
            slow motion
in the throes of recalibration
            the image in the snap
            house of cards    de
flight     is the signature
                       feat     of the wing

the incident on chain mountain

in the early hours
            an enigma
the bite of talons
            terse and brittle
over barley fields
            temple bells
a chill wind
            sweeps the lurks
a tapestry
a touchstone
a dream of sleet
            and streeling light

 in an age of masks
            of empty eyes and wooden tongues
            of roles without joy
each day's a case
           of bamboo jitters
                                                  in the wind

ascending the road
            to the old powerhouse atop chain mountain
i replay in my mind each move
            in that final round
                                    of trudgepig
            recall writing ice
                                    at the heart of the sun

concerning alice           
                        for all the world
                        the fool's in his cradle
            under citrus skies
                        the jester dreams
           of lemon blossoms
                        and tangerines

it's a surrogate
            sort of world
the play complete
            the players gone
we hear only echoes
            from the empty stage
there's a blatant bestiality
            to the terms of exchange
and every conceit's
            subject to the cudgel

what informs the past
the sting of passion    tart
            on the tongue

concerning alice
            the senses are slippery    bells   
on a marbled morning coaxing
            sonatas from sand
                         from stone

episodes in the sordid
                                    evolution of the tongue

            the penitents arrive
rapt in the ozmostic
            this old tired orb ingloaming
                                       on the dark accretion

 after the storm
             on streets of deadwood down
puttering along
            like an aardvark in heat
                        on the frontier of words
pushing west
            odor of sage
            the queasel of cut grass
                                         in the wind 

 well versed in the arts
                            of the intuitive ape
out of step
          with the pace of precision    
rushing heedless
          down aisles of morning
i dwell within
            this convoluted architecture
                                     where all the rooms

but at times
          the fox of foolishness
                                 is loath to be limber
            all the memes
                                burn like stigmata
ribald amid the ruins
          of the psychosophistic roller coaster
what was it mama said
                              about days like this


whelped portly proud     deaf to the din
                                        in the malign contraption
            we worked the lines
                        making play
                        lopsided games
                        gruesome frivolity
            took comfort in it
                        wooden legs
                        hats too large
                                    brute berets
            constant holidays

 in the square   
           as the tattered jester hawks his wares   
                        we wait
to be taken in
            by the silken tongue of some rough beast
                        come slouching

in the news

            tighter control for euro banks
                                                            wsj 7-9-12

must be ernie's younger brother
didn't know he pitched

note on my process:

 reading the entrails

            gut the goat     gods grumble     nothing gained