tom taylor - “followed by”

“followed by” crisp moon’s tatters caw the day upright and flowing formal gardens in the lessons for the light arriving through the gray sky beaming down above below newer hours have called up and said come back and play against the white upright plane of word and deed and song alive beneath your morning hours simpler here than might be thought as if your scrim of inattention peeled back revealing underneath machinery without design in the heaven’s comport and meant to seal the rocks to the ground up time aside buttress and bred together mark the way ahead would seem no longer absolute
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you are it says against the calm emptiness without image or thought the dog-headed man on the edge of the glass on your desk arms stiff against his sides striding out of the ivy growing all around the window through which the grassy knoll beyond indicates plot and grimace jap eyes mated to the skin beneath small sacks full of fluid unwrinkled gaze of youth’s younger daze unincluded in the shipping list attached to his head with staple and gong allowances are not decided until color comes into play around your hands like light
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oar are the hours described in pamphlets handed out at the mall by unintelligent strangers who profess from pulpit and longer arms than needed for the fire of the might and main a dog asleep on the floor beside you thinks dog thoughts one at a time no serial intensity is at large beyond your anchor braves of frame a murkier a murkier yew bled your scars on she to hold the bobble headed warriors accountable murders allowed sanction and larch to shield these laves attain sent larger spilling fluids the sand’s narcotic entry level death
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yud plodded shame at indigent rains across the continent all divided by name and number into respective troupes according to height and warms signs all around pockets empties by the claimant tread solemn spell-check clamor fills the basket ball and wooden spoke at three o’clock the hoopsters from far away rail their linear entities their own dimensions leaping forward or falling back the season’s time has come again the calmer hours fly apart from wanton sleds afloat the river’s canal over the quay for leaping boys at summer heaved overside the homo on the range has cowboys clinging all around for safety now
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nonetheless quieter hours leave her childish raincheck on the desk unaided but knot paid for cleaner choirs resume the sky is falling yet held by gravity’s claim on your backside with pockets empties onto the table small piles of rounded metal disklike coin and realm discovered in six feet of water waders in rubber socks have made the rock less slippery for the crossing into safer harbors where time might not even move or lie along shores at day’s lightning upper realms are reported in the noose and chain he slapped her face after the blade had fallen an indignant expression on her severed head three months he got for such indiscretions during the ceremony of separation from the body politic
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sew the old stories one on top of the former building alliances from within no claims are met where none provided resignation in disguise to flood your hours forward shines her heart given willingly and without contract or stupor at the master’s realm for song and dance across the floor carrying her tray of tilting glasses moved you monster closer forms were avoided from cliché and foray to lingers liner slowly one by one up the roads to a destination undescribed though known from ancient rooms where women come and go again their marbled foreheads are calling out your simple prescription for delight inhere.