What shred

What shred

Of decency

Longer holds

The hours

To account

For knots

Of gut

Supposed

To tie

A brace

Of heart

No time

Like

The present

Bears upon

Deliverance

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

The soffit run

The soffit run

A vanity

To mask

A septic artery

Pertains to planes

A quality

Of corners

Bumped

For sanity

So all remains

A mystery

When angling

For history

And where

The shit

Went down 

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

What can be made

What can be made

Of plotted points

Compressed of air

A dreaming man

Stuck to clodding

Unattached

Sphagnum and

Eternity

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Not so graceful

Not so graceful

The side-faced stair

Running off

Its coil

From sympathy

To disgust

No being able

Could stand it

Head on

A shear affect

Supports the turning

Back

Is it

Only a shaft

Remains

From bending

To hollow out

Another turn

Or the furling of

A simple step

To round

An ecstasy

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Who could conceive

Who could conceive

This bounding box

Vectored through

Without a stage

For standing up

A monument

To a secret peace

Worked bravely

Free

All that's drawn

From in this pen

Is tallow

From tanning

Innocents

Second hand

We spin along

Offering

A burning

Man

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

What used

What used

To address

That port

Of air

Has now

Removed

To pretty

Sound

Hoardings

Surround

Its hole

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Don't rise weary

Don't rise weary

Little whitecap

That rattling rainspout

Is only a morning's

Scuppered dream

Run off

From night- scuttled

Clouds

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

A buried hum

A buried hum

Triangulates the wind

Something trafficked

Needs location

Twisting crosshair

Confidence

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Inside

Inside

This mounded cornice

A seed

Survived from moldering

Grew into

A chestnut crotch

Fit for gables

Sweetly coped

But never innocently

Joined

Not pining

For a deathly

Groom

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

That native tongue

That native tongue

You make up

Like a dumb elder

Under the big bear

Silence

Lolls for sweetness

At the dump

A hummingbird

From 10,000 feet

Dusts its wings

On a windless plain

Its words were flowers

Once

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

A barely whittled

A barely whittled

Two by four

Unused to

Not framing rooms

Stuck with spindle legs

Is enough to count

As a sheep

When a fetish

Can't be dreamt

Up for framing rooms

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Down the company road

Down the company road

The slagging was

Of men and boys

Heaped in ramps

With terrible hands

Dealt by the company men

From the bottom

Of the deeps

The women here

Remain alert

To periodic caving

A habit worn

From mining days

When the sun

And its shadows

Went below

To come up

With less than

A day and a night

Down the company road

They pity the dawn its dead

And for stealing their men

Just to return them

Useless

To sleep

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

Pretending to be

Pretending to be

Maple and birch

Or a coyote

In the bush

A constant wind

Makes a second race

Weaving through

The grass

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

The square of graves

The square of graves

Dug in to lee

On a slope of clay

Reversed

Beaten by the sea

Falls in

Its order

Undermined

Such a square

Like a sail

Like musketeers in rank

Reefed

Before the wind

And cannonballs

Lays shielded

Hopeful

From a current charged

With rounding stones

And killing men

It lifts

A parallel

Of grams

Facing shacks

Of fishermen

With marshalled lines

On lyric slabs

Not for floating

But to shore

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013

This fill

This fill
And all the blasting
Took
To break a boulder
Back to fill
Will be the death
Of me

A way could be made
To dodge a ferry
To fill a strait
To lock a stream
To break a mountain down
To a man

But then
A rockslide
Takes
A man
Buried beneath
An engineer
Burns he
A bolder plan
Unlaid

















Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013

A circle of yelps

A circle of yelps

And a bleating center

Rising at 4 AM

Outnumbered by stars

And spruce deep

Stirs a lying dog

Fitful of

Its quarry corner

The lamb remains

A well-fed spring

Inside a farmer's ken

Ending beneath

Another’s table

Parted from sounds

Of a late-wood summer

Night famished ribs

Crush

For marrow

Unseasoned

Making meal

Of the morning

Tom McGlynn

copyright 2013