Riverine and Elephantarian.

lincolnneal:

As elephantarians when
hollering, yelping and barking
sounds are made we flap our ears and
fly away. they find a fog of dust or
run like kits crying at the woooosh
in dreamlike fright when we take off
and then alight. again, because we are large
we pay no mind, we walk only to
keep the trails wide and with
our ears and size we keep the trails
dry while dogs with their men
pass through to evict our friends.
such as the bear whose fur soaks up
rain drops too, whose strength is unknown and
can make time, it’s true,
pause with a wave of their paws.
between these powers empirically
it is impossible to drown every bear
in water or sound or bad air. our friends do not
know what a shower or storm is. the cubs wash up on land
if they must in dust clouds and use bark for combs.
the young grow from bottle to hand to
arms into beasts who eat kindness yet
still the creeks they crawl from are wet
from steppe to beach in the eyes of the hawk
who flies below calls to stop flapping
and adhere to the terms of arms who
paint cows and bulls with symbols of ears
which grow like fish
or caves in a wave. we all are pasted in 
location echo: we all went to the sea and lived 
as elephantines, pinnepeds, and cast
a curse upon man and dogs in a sea such
as sharks. devouring carps.
we fight them all. our friends.
bears and us, I mean, eating elephants as though
oceans were riverine.

Riverine and Elephantarian.

As elephantarians when
hollering, yelping and barking
sounds are made we flap our ears and
fly away. they find a fog of dust or
run like kits crying at the woooosh
in dreamlike fright when we take off
and then alight. again, because we are large
we pay no mind, we walk only to
keep the trails wide and with
our ears and size we keep the trails
dry while dogs with their men
pass through to evict our friends.
such as the bear whose fur soaks up
rain drops too, whose strength is unknown and
can make time, it’s true,
pause with a wave of their paws.
between these powers empirically
it is impossible to drown every bear
in water or sound or bad air. our friends do not
know what a shower or storm is. the cubs wash up on land
if they must in dust clouds and use bark for combs.
the young grow from bottle to hand to
arms into beasts who eat kindness yet
still the creeks they crawl from are wet
from steppe to beach in the eyes of the hawk
who flies below calls to stop flapping
and adhere to the terms of arms who
paint cows and bulls with symbols of ears
which grow like fish
or caves in a wave. we all are pasted in 
location echo: we all went to the sea and lived 
as elephantines, pinnepeds, and cast
a curse upon man and dogs in a sea such
as sharks. devouring carps.
we fight them all. our friends.
bears and us, I mean, eating elephants as though
oceans were riverine.

It comes to my mind
Familiar memories
I visualize my black blouse
When I was a schoolboy
On my way to school
I sang out loud
Ballads without words
Old songs of yesteryears

Sweet France
Dear country of my childhood
Rocked with tender insouciance
I’ve kept you in my heart!
My village, its steeple its calm homes
Where kids of my age
Have shared my bliss
Yes I love you
And I give you this poem
Yes I love you
In joy and in pain
Sweet France
Dear country of my childhood
Rocked with tender insouciance
I’ve kept you in my heart

I’ve known landscapes
And these wonderful suns
On distant journeys
Far away under other skies
But how much I prefer
My blue sky my horizon
My main road and my river
My prairie and my home

Charles Trenet

Translation: http://www.swans.com/library/art15/xxx134.html
Song: http://youtu.be/T0Ynz0Kt-vU

These lyrics (changing out place names) remind us nothing ever changes from generation to generation no matter who you are or what you look like. For me it is the outskirts of Endicott. My France is Owego, NY.

Along

The easiest
is to not pay any mind
to this village or this town
or this city
this state this province
while this tiny piece
is divided into fine parts
while I’m whirliest and make
least when i fake a wholly
personal heatness while the sun just flies away, along
It’s religious. while
flinging a rolly moment,
i’ll pause, and find
time in pieces of
an uncurled
wooly bear’s face, there
I find peace in the hardest sun of day while walking
stepping over them, bands of
black and brown and explain
seasons to them like
tiny hearts made from rungs all the way

Still Life with Sunflower, Swift & Damselfly

hip-high
in this, my own
orinoco, it seems
slightly untrue to
describe what depth is;
how could you know my
size or understand ankle-deep
or fourteen hands or a shoulder-
width and a half, drowned in
what is immeasurable sunshine?
behind the building between
two blazing rivers of steel rails
upon which if you sat we would
only see your two worrying dark
bottomless caiman eyes; yet
when I stand up this river is hip-
high and the fat swifts dive
around our heads rising
only to a pause alone momentarily once every while
like a still life with sunflower, swift & damselfly