The Refit Ship

Oliphaunt, my feathered friend
He spake out to the years, “Pretend!”
And with it feathers fell for them
Figurehead he flew to Land of Ends

It came for those of us it pleased
We pleasured all the outlet whales
But when it came to cutting time
All they’s found was fishes’ tails

“Haha!” a shout from on the roof
I ran myself out into the loop
A twirling mass of flesh and stone
Cold in right places, dead to boot

What’s this, my time in coldest attic
Frowned upon but n’er, ne’er panicked
And what is this, my sweetest regret
Out on open poop deck I sicked

Upwards on and to the sky, I
Says to mine, I says to those concerned
Not many for me, mates are all
Unbound or bound, to ships or worms

Self-Origin and the Quaking Tree

It’s important to me,
I listing I, to see
All apart my lives
Collections of falling leaves
Filled my eyes, relief
Uncrossed teas, alive
Save for motion, for me

What’s upon a time
Making, shaking, quaking
Eyes, O eyes
(My dear friends’ eyes,
Voices, some quaking
Come shaking to me)
Now matters more tree
Come softly to me

You begin, outbound
To will the things
(I send you apples down)
While legal matters wait, yes
I’ve found no longer
Needs to wait, not now
Repeating in that sudden,
Dry away, commit