LINKS
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Cosmos Anew
I
A sun, two eyes and three bears,
four sides to a square, five-pointed star,
six characters in search of an asteroid,
seven seas, continents, dwarfs, pillars of faith.
II
Our first language is binary: yes, no.
Which triggers the cosmic mysteries of gender.
Man and animal, good and evil, follow.
Building blocks, confusion, complexity come with time.
III
Tree stillness, river ubiquity, these are goals,
ideals distracting us from conceptual criminal careers.
Tibia, trust, hated obfuscation in search of
vague telemetry, universal explosions of torso understanding.
IV
The word is from the German: sun.
The word is from the German: son.
The word is from the German: arm.
The word is from the German: moon.
V
Holy forest in time for dinner thirst
bells are ringing in the night year
end sale, sail into red sunset spiral
of life magazine rack and screw you.
VI
My Judy Garland life has been torn
between splintered Gemini and hesitant, shy Cancer,
but bull in a Japanese garden Venus
in Taurus does not fit to print.
VII
Smoke. Every word has baggage. Silence. Deflection.
This is an attempt at astronomical meaning
man-made and photographed explosion, a block-sized crater
on the asteroid the size of Manhattan.
VIII
Poets do the impossible: use old words
to describe the moment one hundred percent
new for which they travel dark distance
of disrespect and neglect, an expansive void.
IX
Waning is the worst: the descent doesn't
have to beckon; the descent is inevitable.
The descent is made better and worse
by memories of the arduous, arbitrary ascent.
X
By the time the word is created,
autumnal, it is too late to mention.
Eve after noon after morn Whistler grey
with Van Gogh jagged edges twilight dawn.
XI
Narrator? Protagonist? The voice of God is
not on tape entered into evidence enough
of syllables, tempos, prayers in Japanese gardens
which bring us to be here now.
XII
And every night and every day in
which they are there but can't be
seen the stars are a bit closer
or farther apart than in Plato's day.
XIII
Pass my ashes by thirteenth moon on
paths in astral woods where men discover
distant comets and deflect targets of desire
as close as your own icy sweat.
Copyright 2005 by Greg Baysans
https://members.tripod.com/~poetx/poems/cosm.html
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