Aught, no. 13 (2004)


Adrian Lurssen

Twenty-Six: Private, First-class

I

here come the little soldiers
whose destructions

lie in clay arrangements
of the tongue

listen
you be our inevitable

stamp of approval


II

he died officially
in a space between letters

so much
for the word

so much for the word


III

whose voice in whose
head where

as though between two rivers
the dead live


IV

one figure for each age from
ox  eagle  house  door  until

at last they had
alphabet enough to say anything

no matter
the word


V

lost now
in our new arrangement for death
from here to here

a breath
like the parting of the seas


VI

what was was historic
accumulation

as though we always knew
letters take care of themselves

in small convoys between palms
find their own way home


Copyright 2004, by the author. All rights reserved.
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