ice as gold

the ice is clean & legible you can feel
                                       it enjoy its winter
poles practise for the world
        what isnt being done or seens in your
body                                 but if perception
reading limits are all verbs there
               are steps to through cold nature warm
metallic action                                     we fall
& are above ourselves feeling & fluid
                      skating & other exercises attempt to
combine & writings                                  part
of it too flat flat like the earth
                                  or a suddenly remembered record

snow to the thief

a book left in the snow whats owned coveted
                                           a film begins
& youre home the beasts also
                    we give we nudge its what
we want of
winter like a final page & its not death
                                          we take another
leaf move into it our bodies
                       ads to some clues to the
cluey what insists
or persists to go snow down we cant help
                                          throwing it in
their face though they flake away
                       inhumanities a pride they have left

super victorienne

so as to follow volume a big owl sets herself up
                              in the skeins of men & gives
it little thought for                         thirty years raw
mice in a bowl kept her occupied riotousness
       served as a contrast & coffee sometimes its a melancholy
facade                       when a neighbour votes veins pop
eye to ballot giving labor                              a hard
chance when god made you eat those golden things
             nothing was retained build fences peoplell always need fences
to keep                            out cherubic babies baby owls
with long losts when they brought                        him
in a sheriff ate his shoe that was the bet
                         in the nest slack & unvacuumed one of
last years eggs                                 it is that egg
sun is setting rattling away to itself
in the relatively close distance retirement beckons & vegetarianism & begging

untitled is a title

read fast in order to reread
                eat a plum something
strange has             entered the
style of the water
building the fadings of the hairs
               in order to care
start reading          become something
strange & a plum
light out for stones play again
                 it is nice to
see do           arts on
a wall fearing whats
on floors so give up sex
                for dancing words are
crayz telling           what they
do the farmboys slip
off rails & cowpats catch them

a wrong kind of sentimental

what appears to be past or separate
                       a classic might be
a future however                       dont
load it for a riders sake
                 death is a condition laid
out like                        a table
its head cut off &
        frozen black cuff riding up cutting
a                     right kind have
a theory comes to
be handy here two brain parts come
                     to play a gas
eaten enabling bubbles		      appear
foaming up & down a weight
             hands placed to dry come
evening shes                      right here
it was a town fake
	    with questions dissociations not worth remembering
hes	cutting saving bodies
from knowing their disasters
a quiet new reason surfaces is made

hat critiques head

blanket & hex each word refers to a left
                     ear soft hats create soft selves
& so forth                   this ultimate attempt
at fracture heals a main thing
force of culture burning a reader a reader bereft
                        of relation yet happy at an
influx of oxygen                        it found its
level & headed halfblind towards death
there were pages of references to redeem he leafed
                      & leafed back she was lost
or he was                    they were unelected
leaders their lips & tongues followed
the words democratic process their hearts hidden & deaf
                     their heads in the summer clouds
their toenails black                 they had no
text something so close it soaks
up smoke goes against tableaux & goes to grief

Michael Farrell's poetry has recently appeared in Heat, Jacket, Verse and Boston Review. He is a postgraduate student at Deakin University. His book 'ode ode' was published in 2003 by Salt Publishing. 

See link: www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/1876857536.htm
E-mail: Michael Farrell