Windscreen Book

where any dark refrain may overload the real - Peter Dent

trees reiterate all texts' bits    especially    winter-opened
twig-elaborate    with twilight's purpler/blacker to wood

with car-slide & pass   -us-by fibres    here    an angle of
A    oak-curl Ss & Cs    Christ's T    cross-criss runes    ash

-Arabics    black/white birch-Chineses    there    with a sky
patient for dark scratches of before-voice    none-semantics'

sensing of make   of to make   out of world & in    world &
through    mind & out   for soul    like this patch on blank

   of    lines/(curves)/lines    are more    than than



Fice

I

ion flight cracks open air    blue-orange wriggle
-lightening    wood-will pulled down to grey    heat’s

speech pours     up    out of sacrifice    heat’s heart
of points pushes smoke vowels     away    a scream

of hot space    tugs    at bones    bones as a basket
of fire cradles a soaked lady sailor    steam hisses

a snake’s    demise    fire’s teeth begin a meal    sparks
fowl throat    flames inside wrists    black-letter-bones

under    twirling coloured-paper flames    she is heat’s

II

cold congeals clear    skins a lake with window
an icicle tooths air    a crack of sun is held    in

a gun of icicle    his finger bones of clear raging
ache    a coil    of ice water-glued to a dead tree’s

wood    each    coil of ice    part    of a jacket of
light & frozen possibilities    a sparkle of captured


light    a ring of escaping    sound light    suffices
as ice impels    a glacier collapses into gone’s heart

ice at dusk    blue-black wisps of never    loneliness
visibly solid    ice’s smell super-metallic & precisely

                     vast

III

crack open air     clear congeals cold in air’s
speech sun is held    dead-wood-lightening pulled
through a lake’s solid window as heat    pours

out of vowels    smoke & heat’s sacrifice clear
raging    aches a scream of    space jackets light
her bones basket possibilities    a sparkle of

captured cradles a lady’s glacier in gone’s heart
she is heat’s wisps of    nothing    her black letters
papery-cold make solidity lonely    flames twirling

          colours in coils of ice

Made Worlds

fingers breaking on ivory tongues    falling    from faces
children at the races    facing    faces as nowhere rises
in eyes    the glasses on the grass    expressions laced in

bird feathers    tomorrow is of old    days gone    kind
funny & sad the dead are the best and I am glad    I find
hardness & circles    its     worlds with made things    its

worlds with    out minds    feel birth    day goodness
children’s faces in glasses    every    child listens to the
lesson of nerve    the lessons of grass    &    a lone black

feather    teacher tells worlds to    go    kind funny & sad
the dead are best glad    and I am if    in hard circles best
aims crack    sit in worlds with made things    & unmade

                    minds its worlds