☀ Today's Poem: Excerpt from "Microtonal Concertape" Cedar Sigo

The balcony is cut swiftly
falls as a drawbridge

A secret two-story harp
(exposed) (mangled)
Marimba Eroica
cold fog

.

I lay my hands
on silver strings
it’s no secret
I form my own
instruments

an oval, shimmering
kingdom, light
limestone green
wires

for the sharp
rain-like turn
in a song

that leaves
impressions

dotted furies
locks impounded
lined paper
pelican inks

(repeat)
ousted galaxy

headlong rush
revolving the blood

placing clear agates
up against the ledge

liquid forms
worship empty skies

.

His voice steps
over the running
of the bath, knocking
of the shade
in the next room
his reading holds
a jagged sense
he may not make it

He clatters on
in brokenness
as if he were
hiking (in ascension)
citing certain
medicine words
in order

.

Moonscape in reverse
scattered rocks cutting
up and away from the waves

six descending tones

—mustard
—bleached gold
—flamingo
—Mars red
—burnt orange
—bleeding cove

dry underneath

a torch to lick the walls
a singer to catch the song

.

Read Indian Oratory deep in the night
And cut it all up

“Looking Glass is dead—
The circular blue paper is the sky.”

.

In Joanne Kyger’s poems the ground is formed from last night’s dream
The thick Tibetan rope is piled like a snake, a young fruit tree shades the long
plank bench
An agate sits as a stopper in the glass bottle
“The wind is in the light of the sun”
The tide forms an inlet, cutting off a small boat anchored beside timid lovers
The ends of clouds have spiral lines like scrolls, Japanese woodcuts of waves
spilling over
“A lone hummingbird sits on the limb where there used to be two”
The poplars grow past a red circular sun, dense lines quilted behind it, frozen in
light, a postcard cut tall and thin
The foot-prints are traced beyond the cliffs
Long stories are meant for empty containers
The woodpile is arranged upside down, wisps of cold, web-like grass underneath
The black branches hang down and narrow to purple leaves dividing the page