PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST GORE'S A-SOAR, his ears capture the still...
CDVIII

GORE'S A-SOAR
Kandinsky's Small Pleasures
his ears capture the still
distant illusion
of his children
singing the Winter's carols
like birds: O Dust!

Yours 's gauzy Impossible Heart!
Embalm it in the Mind's
embarrassments, shames/O shame
O Dust dishonored! yours is the
tricrotic
210 musics to which
Hearts march themselves mandolin madness
of picks less & less

O Dust, yours
shadowness everlasting: terse
is your Aim aiming puffs of dust-smokes,

Yours its Somethings the words

killing the leaves with passions
of unwaiting weights

conveying them
to their unquestioningly passive graves
with the promises Somethings O

Dust, your Songs of inheritances
but the most moving frozen dances
of your slaves
falling & falling
the piled up years rolling
& rolling over O the snows
singing the cool, cool Dust
over us Dust

only Dust only
the Dust inherits
the dust inherits
Th'Dust

^{210} woven like an [email protected]

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