poetry had shown you the way to go
a question only of returning
a pointless path to follow they said it leads but to death
(bpNichol, The Martyrology)
Book 2 of The Martyrology (cont'd)
from "Book of Common Prayer": "saint of no-names" and page 26 from Chapter 2, "1914: One or Several Wolves?" (A Thousand Plateaus)
"saint of no-names "
_____________________
(5) Polestar is a rhizome
Fields, ponds & bp's wet road are possible plateaus.
bp is a BwO
As ghostly text or evening bars poet from his table, grief always
sits between him & his dear saint reat:
unwell, alone, he can't sit under all this cloud-town worship for
"we must return again to human voice & listen"
says makar of shiny-spined fable of "wails", now his lame heart
linked to the stars outdoors,
somewhere between fields and dragons that end only to begin
a new star-crisis, & reat his only saint
"our energy lives on", says bp, even as it all breaks down, stars
saints and friends all around him
Perhaps poetry's a speech a line at a time or poem long as souls
—that look across the valley—
stumble, &take things for "mirage or magic' &who'd never give up
on poets lost (maybe 'mongst the stars!)
Stick to it! live lives thumbed thru often, folksy and old And go
on a prince of flows
O! without noise of saint's dead nights & dreams, the impulse to go
is ah! lovely and long,
good Ontario road under his feet bp grounded wakes from sleep,
elated, and standing alone!
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