8jtcj (cut-up spam poem)

some other childhood
is seized from higher
than you have oscillate
this has moved toward
any woods, close by, the
orange smell that quenches
every ray, nonentity in
most intense room... she
sits, brighter green to come,
astonished that you have
turned partly to stone, partly
the absence of fog from
juice factories with visors...
in the woods, writhing their
stunted limbs, pulpy stone -
absence of you close by,
brave recreational vehicles
in search of paths of
another childhood.

Luis (spam poem - text received and sent to me by Paavo Heinonen)

Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Merely a mockery of spring
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
By the design of our own silent eyes
Sought to contrive, intending to express
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat.