The Petition of Sparrows
In Memorandum Flight
To the God Space.
Please be of the will.
The Savoy of Spells.
The opening is perennial.
The lonely lonely Postal Box drop.
A hallowing owl in the dark skies
Babes in the nest have all died.
A rainbow is a tremendous catcher of horror.
I wash my morning hands
3 times.
A white bowl from the assembled.
A chin. A sweet chin.
Appears like horses’ breath.
And their chilling wills.
The categories.
I made no want.
I scampered across the village square.
What I walk across
Barefoot.
An Oval.
A rectangle.
A circle.
A love in the grain.
We so dearly
Wash ourselves
In the Burial Fountains of Mahina.
(I have loved only men who were mountains and I am pure. As Pine.)
The men in the stairwells of hope
To be Lords.
Carry butterfly leaves in their cupped hands.
With rosaries
Made of
Moss.
I laid down nothing not
Even an acorn
At the dying
Of
Heather.
A woman in a caravan.
A woman in a coma.
A woman under the shimmering James.
Biting his lip
In Pennsylvania
To defend
The right
Of Proper action.
James.
The petitions of the Sparrows
In memorandum’s flight suit
To the God Space.
Between James and Misha.
God counts their hair and is in the hair.
Notice nothing if nothing wants to be noticed.
The heart opening the journeyman’s laboured teeth.
Snow flakes
In the hands
Of the red headed James.
In the planetarium
Of boys.
In Philadelphia.
It seems the conditions were so rich
At the wrong time.
I said “How will it be
In the snow show
On the balcony of the sudden Poconos.
I am ardent there.
I have come to know
We shall be frail and frail and frai.
The Times of Demons.
And
The Times of Angels.
The peach is clenched shut.
Sea Horse in
A bottle
With a
Nail.
Wood reproduction
Mating.
The sound of Victoria’s heart beat
As the machines were silenced.
And her beats went on for five more minutes.
The heart
In the sound machine.
Anise Star.
Armoire filled.
Do not fall with in.
The petitions of the Sparrows
In memorandum’s flight
To the God Space
Between Victoria and her
Four children.
The bone of Victoria I took to France with me.
(After her death I drove passed her vacant home.
And the man that loved her
Was mowing the lawn.
In the mountains.
Where our lives met.
I am a poet but I lost the mountains. To idolaters.)
My God if only I had Irises.
On this plate.
I eat from.
I opened a turquoise
Package.
Inside a purple envelope.
A lavender wax seal.
Amid the sachet (cloud)
Of
Leaf
Berry
Shell
Pyrite
Stone
Oil
Flower
Was written the petition of Sparrows
In memorandum’s dusk
When dawn
Paste itself
In my aunt’s eyes
Forever
Closing
The path to Florence.
My love. And my love.
Will be strong and he will pierce through.
And the nest of newborn Sparrows.
Tucked in the clover.
There is my love.
Wearing a necklace of red ants.
I cannot fight him.
He is the predicted.
(This is not my native lands- the doors of my native lands
Will never be closed.)
What in fight
Rose for me
When I could not.
And what laid to
Rest at night
Slept
When I could not.
And the sky of
My nation.
Torn itself open
And
From
My
Palms
The Oil of God.
And all that come came to the native lands.
The cousin
The girl
The boy
The gotten
The shoulder
The prayers
I have made
For my life.
(The task of the man in the word is the taste in the bean. Tough work.)
Oceanic sleep.
The coral heads
My remaining family.
We have slept in rivers
And
Otters were our warmth.
I woke with a mouse
Listening to the vein in my neck.
If I fall into the animal world
Please do not defy my choice.
I have emerged from servitude.
Ridiculed.
Aimless in my mother’s polio.
Deers worried.
All men crushed in unison.
Noospheriic's song.
I feel into the pond
I made and then re-made.
Remaking is living.
Death is toothless with cement sealed over the asshole.
And. There are either more
Rich
Or more
Poor.
I do not know about the fantasy
Of Great Dreams.
There was salt in her Liver.
Her insanity put that there.
I smelt her as soon as I reached the shoreline.
She is spying on me.
If I could medicate her burning forehead.
What Great
Will not survive the shadow.
You think you actually could have survived me.
The men were sent.
In the petition of the sparrows
In memorandum’s flight
To the God space
Her ill fated ride.
And all that harms me.
They gave her into the second death.
Even a dead
Jew
Would never save you.
A plough in the brainfield.
Our homeless
Or
Small children.
What the roadways
School doors
Hallways
The new tarp lands
The slipping wings
Falling from
A scalded chalcedony
Trembles on the cliffs where it broke off the necklace
Given as a gift
From my father.
When the cockroaches fly
Into the dark air.
And land
In
The
Hair
Of
My
Enemy.
My VooDoo.
The petition of the sparrows
In memorandum's flight
To the God space
When picture frames
Were pulled from
The museums of our souls.
The soul.
So overrated.
In the ocean
On a rock rise.
In May
We were dropped
By helicopter
To tend the lighthouse.
And the waves were hounds.
The storm of Dec.
Driven the tender insane.
The swells broke through.
Swells will.
They will break through life.
When do swells stop?
When they stop.
Here is the hand
Must feel your fingers
Open in it
Like a moth.
Set free by fire.
Lay my eyes on you.
And see the interiors of your coat pockets.
The rain is lightly.
Falling on these windows
Slanting.
The ocean is a clock.
Writing you a letter.
And if the tide is running.
Maybe it will reach you.
God forbid it
Runs you.
These are to the lighthouse keepers.
Where in the eye rogue waves
Are born.
In mysticism.
Directed by the potion
Over the burning rocks
At
A
Distant my wisdom
Was born.
3.
O I have seemed to have trembled beyond.
As for comfort.
From
These false nations
And
These nuclear notebooks.
There is a blink
And we are all startled.
I would be a fool to prevent dying.
The molecular symbol.
I have no branches in the human tree.
Of what I have seen of hearts nothing is heard.
In the petition of Sparrows.
God be within the speech.
God be within the greedy throne holders.
We are sure you will get your wish. We are sure.
But all it is is alone.
You shall be cursed said and done.
From all you had
To
None.
I stopped looking for you my love.
I stopped.
Live and be held.
Then make my way to you,
Then. Then.
Is How.
The mismanagement of hopes’ mail.
What is fair and what is just
Does not seem to
Float towards the specks that will lead to the light.
The sun that holds on breath.
That moment when I made it alright for you
And you dipped me
Into history.
What I cannot improve on.
No is the thought when a dish is clean.
4.
What eyes have been seen through.
The little pins of light under the door.
And the message was
My exceptional message.
A message not for little girls.
But for the woman I am to tell my way
Past the constant talk of life givers
One thing once.
I walked down the hall of the hotel.
Before the hedges outside blew and de-leafed.
The humiliation of victory.
Very lonely and dead.
Occupied.
To you door of death.
I do not know what is concise about winnings.
Or this is your defeat.
I do not know where the champions camp but it is easily found.
Champions arrive through a lot of deception.
Once in the marketplace.
Ripped to shreds.
Dallas was on the radio listening to Dearborn.
And the leaves
From Dearborn
Are felled.
Surplur
On her Tomb.
And the bejeweled
Over dyed
Lucifer
Troubled by his inner peace.
Had not come to lay an
Apple in the gorge of his daughter’s dead face.
He said
Someone here must be mistaken.
This is not a daughter of anyone.
This is a joke.
Stop showing me hood ornaments.
I am a God who has to keep pretending.
Shh. Shh. Demon.
I am running and laughing and laughing and laughing
“Justice has something to do with being mean”.
It smelt.
I was in pain last week.
Writing with it
The petitions of Sparrows.
In memorandum’s
Pink light
Toward the God Space
Between the wave
And
The break wall.
Be careful what must be heard, said, told
Is easily purged.
Embrace God and Embrace All.
She could not stand
Her disqualifications.
The way they flowed to her
And refused her.
I never knew a day she was with human feelings.
Not the devil’s daughter but what gets buried alive.
Her damn dead soul
Landed in the Sparrows’ Stool.
And the tomb they are building for her in Michigan.
Go to them.
Memorandums cells.
Go to hell.
5.
The wheelers and the dealers
Keep winning.
The gold.
The seed of the dealer
Will turn the womb cold.
And the soul of a woman’s egg
Does not fall
From the egg grave
Another criminal
Is
Made
God sprays lilacs
Into the aerial gymnasts spreading of the legs smell.
And everything is justified.
People suffer and they suffer.
For our eyes.
And according to the Lady from the Gas Company
The homeless are free loaders.
You can have a black president
But a white mint.
(Shroud your sacredness if you know what is good for you.)
6.
I am bended. Art is disappointing.
Semen and egg.
Destructive.
(You have got to love love love love it baby to do it. To live.)
Carrying your gunny sack of muggy sparrows.
I have seen heads without faces.
Bodies without heads.
Legs without feet.
Bones without meat.
I have a high tolerance.
I was born in war. Many are.
God help us for the peace we will never feel.
The sorrow of the witness.
My power is in doubt.
(A tiny selection from the piece. I am editing it on Facebook Notes which is really handy,) Satchel Tate Cornstalk.

