Sutures of Infinite Laughter: Poems
the following poems were composed for Ruben Pang’s Milan exhibition, Sutures and Infinite Laughter, 2019
V
or--The encounter,
it seems for
translation of
some,
inner tongue of taste.
All tongue,
no mouth.
Adam Staley Groves
Viscous Harmony
Element tames these
Acrid blooms.
In the
Furrows,
Calibration ticks.
Moon lumber legs,
Tuned lumbar.
For Every Gain, a Loss
Time denies this hinge.
Lend it, then enter.
He stands with tails of prairie grass
The sun, heaved up,
By its own loining arc.
Blue scatters.
Reigns,
These empty seeds.
Propellant
Earth is an elevator
Out of the world.
The world seems
A seed, like a
Moon’s iris,
Out of socket
Eye or egg?
What gestates?
The limbs in this field, or brambles?
Lion loin trembles.
A Place Without Vagaries
Here we drink the broth of
Mercury.
From the wall’s stomach.
Here the lion sleeps
In his savannah
As brambled limbs
Calling, Thoe with a
Damp trumpet or
Mouths she
Presses a force into
Loins spilt from pallor sun
The monkey’s eyes flower.
Applause
The moon caught
These irides
Which,
Cut holes in
The flute of,
The sun beam.
Caught them.
And in the instant
Shattered moon clapped,
Back together.
The Pond
Bow’s tether
Plays up the pond’s treble
Irides of applause, draws forms.
The eye is not the concept of
Infinity.
In its glimmer,
Tremor.
Detune the applause.
Where to fish?
To Straighten A Comet’s Tail
Having found its domain
A sight to see
Was seeming
Was better.
Was it long?
Between here and here
Along with me.
How many tears missed
Misted and
Ejected from the eye flower trumpet?
The lion’s loin tremors with earth
An earth lifts itself into its whorld
The eye is, the lens of
The idea
The bow throws it.
The lion paw
Tenderizes clods beneath it
Sleeps it seems, in dust.
Roots of Honest Dreams
No I earns
Wisdom.
Eyes are full of experiences
The self never earned.
Experience is the urn of figures,
And a sun’s labor.
Traffic is similar to the eye,
Streets gain insight, welcomes travelers.
None earns wisdom, its given.
A tooth is gravel
Wise rock
We use to grind organic life,
To grow our brains,
We use our hands to feed,
The brain is the hand, The hand lays itself on thinking.
The root ends when
Wisdom blooms into
Venated experience
See: variegation
Front Towards Enemy
Became spider.
Comet shot through.
The lumbar bent by the lunar.
Comethead:
In the bath of
The trumpet’s pure, straight, eternal tonal entrails.
Sounds are a cull.
Loon rhythm
The flesh is a curtain
Map of stars.
Permanent Humor
It is time to wash
The empty space
Out of
Your bones.
Time to collect
The iral holes of the moon’s porous clapture.
One trumpet
Its great brass
Beaded with
Thought stitches
To interior experience
Draws dimension
Forgotten we are food?
No worries
I will carry your
Eventual skull
Like this night which licks up
Into ears
A tremor from
The backside of my cells
This eventide cultivation
Coniferous Defense Strategies
The trees of warland
Drank blood.
Out of
Tree bark
An eye peeks
By it sees the moon which
Smashes and recollects empty seeds.
The tree tremors, as a lover’s loin.
Trees
Bathed in the wars which have never come.
Live by unearning sun and
The cartoon of the world.
The lion is no where
Thor is drinking coffee
He works for skywire security, he met
Harold Bluetooth who
Ate a thunder
Thor breathes
At the table, there are no lions.
Just pupa amassing
And washing itself
In computer color white, drained organ flesh, pale
driving through the architecture of the eye
Through the moon’s earth drilled holes
This passage, irides
Cartilage of Siren Songs
The day carries
Its own funeral
That's what
Gives the gain brilliance
Of night tide
A summer full of moving horses
Some rhythm drums them.
Composed of a chord which
Detunes itself
Receptive Organs of a Stinger
in the fold of this grip
A world flu
Churns in it
In the hold of this loom
Arachne wipes her face
With a lung cloth
Hurls song into song, with each wipe
The great folding into inside
But not prayers and do not
Don’t ask the giant
Who unfolds his eye as
ranunculi
Who charms with the soft purse
Of his eye grip
No Legato
the mirror waved,
a swimming pool,
cracks up sunlight.
the mirror captures no thing
has no memory
simply a writer
of the eye
Viper Learns Articulation
The fern
Coils and throws
Spores
The breathy soil is
Home to a large snail
Marbling in muscular spasms
The snail intones
Upon it, like a lamp, it’s poison to the touch
gives the scene:
Horses of summer
Decorate the ear, for storms
Pharmakos
the computer white wash means
less than a sky which is mute and cold
before it is
dream fire
at the last band of atmosphere.
I was alone when
She fell outside of
That small boat
The transom gripped
Crow leads bear
To the body.