Poetry for face-landscapes: Heart Lake

How do you get out of the black hole? How do you break through the wall? How do you dismantle the face" (Deleuze-Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus 186)

"Heart Lake"

withdrawn, & stripping down to its sides
stirs longingly
just the way a kettle lake ought

(gone the
fake furbished hold of its ol' 'shores-in-a-mesh',
& dinky algae), &

sticks dibbled in mud like cattails, with some sun
of silvery-gray & clover
The real, glacier-ript lake is its mammoth-

heart that lives by sliding
into itself, its very murky nullity But lake in a
wood,

for the gray-haired
can bloom in profusion without any (of that)
trefoil confusion, here

shiningest example to me yet of an end deader
than shaky ashen creepers
(like witchhairs!) strangling overhead

Poet in his woods

—or in just that imaging green head of his,
passional with rain—

runs with tragical eyeing of all gristly shores,
a wasp's-breath of water,
and bug-eyed frogpond with invisible mate

And lone-stalking
like loons to out-thump the sun won't mean you're
any more real, here 

than a fusky bark coat, & roots lying red under
your feet
Witches say the run makes soul-leaving easy