It was raining camels it was raining goats in the courtyard they are erecting a modest stage. They plan to perform Julius Caesar in modern dress and three or four classical Japanese plays Humming Birds Jackals Fog and Rain on Hiroshima. Surely I will want to write a poem.

He is saving heredity for himself. For levitation and its hillocks like a wobbly bridge from one apartment to the next. Curious as to the wind and its fingertips. After lunch they read play cards. In Uncle Vanya the hours pass unseen and funnily enough one learns to skate in War and Peace.

Valery prays for the soul of Ravel whose hand feeds wax to a wooden fawn Schubert drowns Marie the German wife of Mallarmé followed by butterflies pestilence and anabaptists. In my sleep I steal your vests and pins the fox steals water from a stagnant pool having traveled many miles to accomplish this task. And before… Before the ibex the bear and the indignant dirt gods with long ears grinning in Business Class. In business class Pelléas and Mélisande wave fatally and flirt on the path to...

You should see the days here the weather is useless gentle rain when the focus should be on irrigation but there is still time to do nothing to sit here and be quietly bitten and that was all you had to tell them that the things we were offered offend the misery of history with us and our own surroundings. Language runs off with all of last week preceding us into the haze like an arabesque. The raddichio are eternal. My horse said it would go faster and dies in a Russian novel under the ca...

Too much is soon enough children scatter and waltz into the sky dispensing rainbows and forget-me-nots. Of course they are quickly forgotten. The world is composed of all it lacks thunder and tulips in clouds at the lake asparagus and quiche. In your hand I kiss spare parts then wolves follow us in a brougham mumbling about the economy concerned or otherwise lost in conjecture and innuendo. Maybe we should pause. Chinese moon people probe successive nights suitcases highlight suspects vari...

Spurs feed the Manhattan Bridge from Sea Beach and Sunset Park.The Jay Street station was inaugurated by Prince Metternich (b1773) in 1915 after his death following the Congress of Effects. You may object Bird but things can happen out of season or just seem to be like gods relaxing their clean triangular flesh. Other examples are the Congress of Mirrors with its magic powders and the Frankfurt parcels lost after weeks spent cruising in the Alps. England remained distasteful earlier in lif...

We all live in boxes. In the underworld too many vendettas.Persephone waits but Rainer and Marina are tired of waiting you probably won’t see them again this year. Meet me at Grizzly Corners near the Villa of Forgiveness if you know how to duel. And if you don’t open the tired armsof these hills to the remorse of Macbeth and Iago. Iago had none he was strictly in the villainy business somewhere in Hungary igniting rainbows with the balance of payments. Macbeth clearly missed his chance so ...

There are so few new titles. Mornings were bitter bitter music without sounds bitter sounds without music then you brought the skylarks earrings. The truth is slanted like rain you were left floating on a boat the rain where so much is hidden. Light was carried off like finite numbers fresh glimmers of silent nouns remember there is no ‘u’ in that spelling Italics are useful vowels have no color how beautiful it was to hear them. Was Einstein still listening was the Volga intelligent as go...

I am trying to balance silence with alarm on behalf of the subliminal because a sign is positively expressed even if the tree in which it hangs seems distant. Time corners a defiant Faust in the rural aquarium encircles Proust with catalpas in the dust of another garden the tapestry streams from the loom to keep the nervous suitors at bay coasts moan silver roars in the quilted season of its own undoing before I hand you a meaningful exemplar of love and Spring. In the sky substitution is ...

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There is no hidden meaning. Surface is what they are. Sometimes they may seem straightforward, and sometimes they may surprise you like children who have taken unexpected paths, drowned in fog, and pulled down the stars at night. Sometimes they hang in the air or disappear without a shadow, like sand or gravel or the startled red fluorescence exploding into spring. But they are always there, erasing their tracks on the verge of disappearing or becoming something else, always changing horse...

In this his tenth collection of poems, JS Venit continues his strange encounters, finding a new depth as in the Museum of Sleep. After Labor won the election, Clem Atlee became PM. The surprised emcee staggers into the heat, driving squirrels downhill, delivering sheet music posthumous addresses more cracks in the coalfields. We walk into the blight of spring on the border somewhere between the Vistula and Colorado candlefish rise to adorn the outlet. Are these the only shadows that we kno...