From Separate Voices

by Scott Thurston

the small
                support the large in a
forest where
                     another law is apparent
when I stop
                    here I literally get off
become object
                        of another world's subjects
the bleached
                      logs spin wink out
of sun's spot
                      tape a sudden immersion
bordering on

the totally uncompromising
                                              stance comprises a promise
to a tone
               spread out in subtle rings
of selfishness
                       it bangs a head broad open
cuts against
                    a star board right for
             intricacies simple sudden a
             caught you again for your
deep deliberate
                         colours tacked to a mast

I adore you
                    so much that I completely 
forgot about
                     you lying there between
the sheets
                  a resurgence of a split
glyph turned
                       out of sidings anonymous
in a place
                where grit in one’s eye
turns to jewelled
                            beauty a fractured tenderness
a blackbird

being beguiled
                         by the surface of perfection
belies a deep
                      dissatisfaction that one gives
you your easy
                        surface easily and yet
this one you
                      find intolerable because it
reminds you
                      of the depth you crave
your need
                  without being trapped by
it to disperse
                      those lines a little wider
till it hears

what are the
                     edges so tied up tight in
me that when
                        I turn the page turn over
in bed I arrive
                        on another plane of
                        and it breaks to suggest out
of a patterned
                        barricade those gleaming surfaces
is it living well
                          to shine so bright or is a hoax
concealed is the
                           work boiled down to its essentials
or is it the last
                     cracked remaining residue
of thought

make a drive hole
                              down into history as age's
becoming breaks the
                                  ties between the root
and the head of the
                                crop the paradoxical gap
is an opening out
                             where the dream turns from
the surface back
                            into a future narrative a
wager for knowing
                                or a relationship to knowing
a sudden beguiling
                               harmony between the train
on the track
                     the truck
on the bridge

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