Monday, April 29, 2013

Tim Laffey- A Poem

a separate thing

i wanted to tell you one true thing
when one sees a living thing
when all the assembled parts are working
watch it inch along to learn it
walnut wild cherry thorny locust
waiting for concupiscent celts
to reappear wanting to be wanted a
trunk and bark being again with
winged silver maple seeds or a black
trappist oak cowl shadowing my religious
sister wants to cut its gnarly limbs down
said this tree’s a devil oak passing
through the thin blue air
though within it nestle instructions
the worm knows well
that the tree will stop and
the topic will be ended

that precise point when its
treeness goes and the bird can’t use it
such that i am a hidden
sticky web of chemical words
some see tree and think devil
some see tree and think clear cut lumber
some see tree and think a world of
reds whites buttercup leaves green
that whole thing quivering there
persimmon from the bare ground up
talking in the rasping breezes one
sits on one limb and sings
one feels the air rush by
one does not become that air nor
one among a multitude of leaves
though without imagination
perceptions are not true or
real one is still one
so some
so to speak
see tree and think tree
so let it be tree for them

in twirls of unholy flight
it ends and begins in this devil oak
in appearance an enigma
it is and it isn’t what is seen
if i had a chicken bone to cast magic
i might be this bird tossed happily
in air or it me or i that tree
i regard here holding
high suzerainty with its shade

hatch one world! instead each part
has its own idea of
how to go along the way
from red flesh and white bones
from this looks like a tree’s leaf while
feathered birds nesting noisily
end abruptly when cats come
did not know one could be so dually
distinct from others of its kind
devilishly difficult to determine which
description is not suspect rarely
demanding proof checks or showing its
daily work in the margins of
current thought through twigged neurons
coming forth with green images
curling from seeds by small variations in
cells beneath it eyeing this devil oak
and in the air are many full grown oaks
are all of them devils when saplings
also or only when aged and gnarled
and if yes then fashion their image
and the difficulty lies in locating it
and it is this: i am and
am not distinct from my kind and
among them is a giant red devil oak
and feel all true things must end
and feel all false things will last forever and
across this acreage we occupy i am
a separate thing indeed

i would tell you one true thing
and it is this: i do not
know one

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