Sunday, October 21, 2012

rob mclennan

American Hybrid

          for Cole Swensen

               It’s intransitive and about space; or is space or shows
               itself to itself in it
                         --Susan Clark, as lit x: the syntax of adoration


The mind, however weakened. States, foreclosure. Hurray, but for a single angle. Treasured.

Meant, to disturb. Thin balcony, stretch. To sound out, thinking. Misty. If I, prevented. A
great road, flats. It parcels. Beauty, as far out as a generation.

Radius, the highlands. What famous, cut.

Morning, unread. Some nights examined. Removed, forlorn. An island, crestfallen region.
Why is it, look. I dream. I paint a picture.

As if, writing. Sleek, and dark. Appending crystals. This dull, muddied stare.


What a man can, do. Covers over, sex.


Hungry, but. Look out, on horseback. Aesthetic, mountains. Higher, senses. Mottle.

Pedigree, view. A hand, assembled. Creates for me, a sphere. Better, domestic. Teeth. White
hair, and patch of, blue. Engaged. Within these, genealogies. Vary, stink. These disciplines.
Rule tens, all thumbs.

A latch-key shard. We dapple, days. Cranked-out.

Speaker, listener. Docile, in the heather. And your position, known. What happy, download.
Keen eye for effort. Unstable, sleep. Given. These words relate, themselves.

Can never, traverse. Only, sleeps on planes.


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