Herbier, and: Gnomon, and: Sponges, True and Probable, and: Lichen Association, and: Buds

Abstract

Herbier, and: Gnomon, and: Sponges, True and Probable, and: Lichen Association, and: Buds Emily Wilson (bio) Herbier And quiet strangelystruggled into, move aroundto see where it has fit, thencan't it? Turning up a truculentpart—Viola odorata—you haven'tunderstood it as a symmetry, quitethe opposite, the funged leaf floatsand scrolls from its base, and finernear the petal-head, almost double-tubular, an outride stem hasrooted tothe rule of the plate, yetpossibleto find going intoan aperture somethingslenderer than—stay with melittle textual intervalstabbed with a stemghost-stem, scrying underthe packed and fibrous scalescomposing the "cone."The leaves are cordate and the budthe bud taken sideways isa toy blue—viola, agréable—bowed free but being stillfor the subtler hand that made theeno one made thee [End Page 151] Gnomon Slow chains of the richeningawkward outwardgrowth and changeto have livedjointedly throughthe fluid binding stills of oldsandstone—fish, fishy fans, buddedloaf-like discoids andthe otherwise"gauche spiral in space"something to have seen yourselfwhether alteredbackwardsteeply bornecobbled under wavesof white sediment—split, botched, offthe strict integralline ofthoughtprone to— [End Page 152] Sponges, True and Probable Calcareous crinolinewhat's unwound in gone soft partsprobably didn't give enough I want to make upmy love's lover's leaf of white scurfpossibly only for a whilesubtended the primordial bud it wasslunk just before crystallized bibbings offthe flawed stalk bad at this becauseit's hard to be "in it" they sayfor any stay astride the clarifyingruddy scrolling spicule-sprigging thingsplendidest bastion [End Page 153] Lichen Association Something is speakingin the language oforange areolesin the manner ofblack plaques andsilvery-gritted miniatureBritish soldiers orare they spiders' flagonsone must imaginethe thrill and eclipse bothwhen something is deliveredin the tenor ofvelvet tripes trenchingthe squalid rockthings that blanch over itmessages rampantrestrictiveness heyyou have to listenin the impress betweenpassages thatched ofbiogeochemicalrealities something ispitching in an effort toextenuate to somehowexpand on the tangiblesynthesis "rare andhardly gotten"don't you realizethe implications ofmind-blowing barehorizontals wheresomeone alwaysvanishing trespassingis. [End Page 154] Buds torsions of, rubyspiked colonies underthe peoniesmeatier thanimagined points turned upat the specializingends even where you findthe need to move onmore of a reddishpink toward the terminalsflocking and hobblingseveral gnarled shotstall for a crabapplemoreoveryou cannot knowhow one gives on another"impressions of" keencounter-factionindicators ofsomething forfeiting deeplyforfeited fora round incominginterrupted bucksthe whole fringeattending itseems I've seen that allbefore it shambles downsome vague nodemessing it, thoughquite a unityundergirds the sharpchartreuse momentsdone alone [End Page 155] Emily Wilson Emily Wilson is the author of two poetry collections, The Keep (2001) and Micrographia (2009). She lives with her husband and two young sons in Iowa City, Iowa. Copyright © 2013 Center for Literary Publishing