Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 29
Table of


Out in the wilderness
The cry has to subside,
The grasping must end.
With no books to weather
The violent ill-logic,
With no soft-handed friends,
There is only despair.
Or this: the blue serenity,
The cold stones, the calm lake
Of the mind as the mind

        Seth Jani



        The power that moves the world
        Tearing down the brown grasses
        While offering honey with its other hand
        Is enough of a mystery
        That even the soft, dissolvent sun
        In the rooftop’s daydream
        Is searching for a clue.

                Seth Jani

Deep Corridor

The anchors ignite
In the sea’s dark bottom.
They are measureless there,
Kindling a light
The bulbous inhabitants
Pass in disregard.
Nothing in the cold edges
But subtle transmissions of blue,
Degrees of fog, trenched confusion.
In that deep corridor
The drifting temperature
Is like stepping through particulate air,
Or the nervous systems of ghosts.

Seth Jani

©Aldo Vigliarolo, Primitive 2

The Receding Frame

It is a long time before
You realize the leaf is only a fabrication,
That the autumn light which shines
Falsely through the window
Isn’t a light at all, and that the window
Only exists so you can understand
The enduring depths.
One after another you peel back
Their luminous skins.
At some point you give up
On the center.
The truth is geological
In its breadth and marrow.

Seth Jani__

©Aldo Vigliarolo, Primitive 5