IV. Le passage à niveau

IV. Le passage à niveau

Graceless, a patient myself, observing the rotation of bin liners, expedients of charting than subjects
Of the beds themselves; ignored or cosseted, in their deceptive convalescence—An illuminated
Green circle of time, where the first part elapses, like much else, with contracture—Of the 263 mile
Line my fingers fanned the accordion of resected small bowel; the prepared slide’s crypt hyperplasia, and surgeon’s portent—
Book III’s altar smoke of green bamboo, with bloody sheathes dulled parangs clear-felled
Had they just dealt a palate of ulcers from the rain—Not the vice of abundance, mine was a constitution

Fit to starve—Having desired, the wave shoals; having known wrong—Brueghel's Icarus (1938) beyond the bluestone hotel's constitutional
Backwardness—Sparing ocean views for the washing up; the name given to a dog, Beatrice, whose subject
Thronged decades, for a man accused of being common, who cannot unbury this face from a looted pillow; his bell already rung—Felled
As teak plantations, coolies, whose Mandarin signifies bitter strength, only seemed to know the keel of a blade—Sought soapnut kernels among the luminescent
Ledges of fungus, centipedes; their quarry ground over cesspits to suppress malarial larvae—Lifts in the weather creating longer miles
Of their steel, and our only reason, tamped by Tiny and Darky Gardiner (1943), a soft-headed strongman and the thief keeping him fed—Death's feeder stream, a portent,

Ella, who did the favor of being married, and released an intoxication of women's exception—Portent
Minibar jewel cases habitually drained after being the last to leave; taking in films before that morning's surgery, where one came to view the transient constitution
Of a body as further impediment; suture and stricture cumulatively read for miles,
Personal haruspicy—What is there left to find after the best thing turns to rot in one's hands—Subject,
The internal being of a thing shared midair between a prisoner's split cell and room 10 of a silver sgraffito Atlas building of an artist—From a barrel escape, fell-running
Telegraph Hill, to get back to the beloved sharing the same history—Mercifully, ignorant of the seam in the plaster taken in a beating unstated for the luminescent

Screen—Featured, the anesthesia's uneven saltation of unpaired electrons (2014); particularly, in the garnet haired (2004)—Bashō's luminescent
Journey is home, where birds are weeping and the eyes. / Of fish fill with tears—Convict-bred, they overleap the portent
That they are stars; the koan, Dark Passage (1947)—There were none mentioned among the transported, except for one predecessor of the Isle of Arran’s Goatfell—
Dozing, thoughtful of his Phrygian evacuation from Cybele’s accessories, to the King of Cornwall’s beach, and circumlocution of Carthage—Constituted
As he would be diagnosed, bow-stiff Arruns (XI.764)—Deceived in the best clothes of Chloreus, of her priest; in that green dress she sported, the embroidered pearled millet
Composed with first meeting’s camellia—He raises a recurved bow, and Camilla strikes him first—No, the subject’s

Blood dried into his finger whorls as rust, while scrubbing in—The commute’s subjective
Camera’s compulsion of turning cable cars toward her—Of return, with the iliac crests of his boasting goatherd father bearing into his back—Preferment’s luminescent
Line endures; as Hendrick’s sketches survived, where, too often, the track bed washed away—Miles
Preserved in Ella’s postcards to the prison camp; even as the Red Cross packages were diverted, annul the Big Fella’s portents
Of hygiene, semblance of structure—There was nothing in forsaking too far between thready steaks, or devastated mouthfuls of marrow gelatinous from a starved animal—There was a French pilot who fell
Into a Vietnamese girl (1962), une vie gâchée—This morning's dry gape of not realizing the capacities of prayer constituting

The man who once hand-fed Pilchards—Complete before the metallic-tipped down of the Little Blue Penguin’s nestling; constitutionally
So familiar and feeble, and easily dog prey—Seated, with Art Pepper; after taking leave of a shack in Sorrento’s subjective
Measure of depression—Leaving through Cybèle’s cahier; the film’s occluded range echoed by views down the lift and outlying Parisian fells—

Their Sundays out, a benefaction—He sees through rounds of snifters, where the spirit evaporates, to the rings of water christened Home; at last, he is shot down—Luminescent,

Retrieving for her, the bauble of a spire—Slumping, the man of polytropos; having never known a clear conscience, with his post-war passage fumbling for miles
A coward to the ideal of unceasing lineage—A book fastens, the celluloid turns, in these mandarin approaches to soothing the received portents—


Issue Lauren Bacall’s order to hang up first, firm in the earthshaking candor of our destination—For the constitution raised by your selection, clear hectoring dreams in the light
Of what happens; felled generations reiterated, so as to degrade that luminescent message exchanged in our sleep—
Threatening to lapse into mired subjectivity—For our shared mileage, a precious Alexandrian scroll, Ossip Zadkine’s Maternité (1913) in painted elmwood, alongside a practitioner along the River Kwai, whose sufferer is waist-deep in a shoal attending to his ulcers—