On Malice. Ken Babstock
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in the common sink, never lifting
our gaze. I’ve a miner’s lamp, no fire.
August 22, 1976, at 17:40. Khatanga.
Don’t write to her. Perhaps she’ll love
you separated more.
‘On the fifth, because I will be
like your dress.’ Sometimes nobody
gives a mind in their head
the whole journey. We are not separated,
we are beforehand. Catkins, then burrs.
The lamp switched on prior to the journey
by throwing a switch at the dome’s posterior.
Grinding of teeth under the chestnut
on Etna. It’s as though
the summit invites a downgrade. Bark death.
Krosnayorsk. Light rain.
Eleven years of green bread still
nobody, dear Lord, isn’t oneself,
but thank you. Isn’t that right? Give them a picture
of no bread, a mean flower more bush
than the love in their heads, a picture
of will separated from matter and head stuff.
The green being flensed, combed out, rehashed –
chesnut? beech? A severe
grade, the cobbles and brick fragments boiling
through topsoil. Night hikes up here
and chases out shreds, Finnish wind. A fragile
lantern tarp rags are whipping at.
Kemerovo, August 28, 1978, at 15:30, altitude 3900 m.
A girl said I should eat. Well, am I
such a coward inside? Regarding winter,
other children bit you, you were after interests.
Inside, one knows everything, but
how does the house see? It is
totally unwindowed!
The rustling in the approach
as the wing lights climb. I distinguish
that from those without reason
so count old rivets, voltage, then fall back
into shadow. How does she know
everything to be unwindowed?
Reported at 15:04, July 4, 1978, shortly before landing at Kolpashevo.
You finish reading it. You cannot
finish reading it. Ice caught
in the can; later, the well. What
shall I be worried about,
the coward well and the ice does
such a lot. They know nothing
of cantilevered blown-out shells
who feed their worry
like veal barns. The dome’s aerial
my lodestar and icon, the squirrel
at dusk in the post-informational gloaming
can never not finish reading it as song.
July 9, 1979. 14:50, in clear conditions southeast of Kogalym.
Your little lamp, for example,
on the mountain sleeping all night.
I have to think about it, or
pull it out of my head. For example,
a clown goes over my face
with his claws. I have seen poorly
for so long. Raking the overgrowth
at the perimeter fence. Metal filing
shelves lashed to the chain-link gaps.
It kept the west out of the west’s mind.
It kept the Lord out of your
dress for a time.
Incident in July, Magnitogorsk, at an unknown altitude.
Because I am sleeping in love’s room
now, the moment will have
received a promise to wait.
The mountain will finally be rid of the town.
Wait a bit, and the mountain
you have not seen goes over your face –
The singing upgrades to ice
crystals of Saturn’s rings raking
the outer hull.
Hello, thing. The geodesic temple and
your dress in your mouth signalling to
the western squirrel at the gap.
Summer 1980, incident at 12:30, nearing 4000 m, Nizhneangarsk.
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