Meredith Quartermain


in the world we eat
all the beats, all the beasts,
all the holly on a clean grey deck of objective

why not call the hills:
they walk now, chairs, baking tins,
trowel and hoe, the garbage cans
stand alone with their parliament car

running tarmac dayglow up ravine
even though it's rented, meaning pants

exchanged armies or bargains
a row of poplars gilded by sunlight

where do they wear beet gloves?
marine street; she's matrix of buttons
servile culvert, ready at the reedy
edge of pond: why not call the hills

they could swim yesterday where
man and horse greenlaced in gold
reading radio she thought
radium    wire
oddly more widowed where
meaning pants running up ravine only
uncurling weeds and words themselves windows

in wars against dandelions
song of the dust song
of the hairsprayed hydrangeas
mammoth song, song of the floor song
of the barrow to cement, planes to the deck
of objective, blue sky to stretch
mirth made to meat tune

running culvert
vegetable plots scattered
through story her
other as cadmium and
like that metal
having a cry when bent
bits of bread

change pond for promontory
mud for money
ravines for servitudes
spiteful wax expounded in speech
as words for tenancy
culvertage: forfeiture
asteroids named tom
embroider sex between dwarf
and normal hydrangeas

why not call the hills
breasts of plows of
earth of walls of mines of
birds breast of bones or
beams of looms

the hills wheel
our earth

Meredith Quartermain Index
The East Village Poetry Web