Backyard, Hoboken, Summer

Backyard, Hoboken, Summer

The sun beating on his brain
And a cat slouching on the woodpile
And ies nauseous with heat

He holds three eternal parameters
The habit of his eye repeats
The shapes he rei es

Let the silence silence its own ache

There is nothing but the plenum of a small red brain

The ies fall suppurant among the sticks
The cat prepares for life

As though the moveable could move
Even the impossible recedes

As though within the clot of brain
Were space or sun to make a world