Friday, October 24, 2003
how i write:

into the bright bulb... one eye shut... one open but useless...

a sighted braille... vacuum... the skinny boy screaming far off...

all my socks in holes... and then... what you said what i read

when the morning asked for losses... our new yellow breathingpole...

getting and getting... another geranium stinker...

in a small paper bag... the next lurid novel... under strong light

hoarding what the ear said... what's wrong what works...

i send these... urchins... up


Thursday, October 23, 2003
and his brave son slipped off... into the gutter...

fair enough his ghostly mention... tacks no more sad

bulletins to powerlines... tree trunks infected

with their own sad imps... this brave son stamped

alleyward... another indeterminate sequence...

another... slight... wrench in the works


no longer looking for poems about frogs... looking for

poems about numbers and letters... looking for poems

under foot... under blankets... back of the garage...

looking... where i just said... here... still looking...


Wednesday, October 22, 2003
my piano heart breaks... here

i'll sell you cheap... a quarter

for a nickel... you've caught me

training... settling old bills

while knocking off...

arpeggios of... breath...

any old shadow shapes

us here... kisses us

unconscious... you get me...

in the dark wood

again... making up

our giddy war


my sonnet has eighteen lines... a broken toe... a nose

like a spigot... you wanted some truth... i found it

in my pocket... next to the keys... the crumpled note...

it can... if i want it to... all graded for content


what passes for... loving it... a noticeable enthusiasm

for the light around edges... the breeze... of a fresh

book... no more tight shirts... no more woolen smirks


Tuesday, October 21, 2003
tried to open it... cut my finger... i don't think

we'll make anything happen today... but tomorrow

steams up... ahead around the bend... like a bloody

new sun... plenty of fresh carnage there...


down by the greeting cards... laughing and crying...

all my anecdotes on fire... and you sniffing Tempestuous

carefully... dabbing a bit on each eyeball... directly

sentimentally prolific... small coins in my pocket thud

towards a purchase... his goofy dog eyes... still you...

on the purple cake... waft me stormward... pages on pages

smoking silently... no native signals save this sharp

nasal bite... well... with its own story... no doubt


green trousers worn... loosely... with a tremendous sigh...

so finished... until our mirrors fainted... we looked good

enough to estimate practical results... then humility struck...

overhead... from cordial groaning baritones... we attack

verdigris slacks of... loathsome memory... ugly tunes


Monday, October 20, 2003
putting his... fingers... putting his fingers just so...

onto the music... putting some pressure... some putting

some small pushing down... to the music... a blasting...

a window... for his fingers... down on the cold... board


arcing like a cruel violin... this rumpus in my head slings

a venal brick past... a good thought... i had it just

a moment ago... thinking heard a thing gnaw... in good order...

through window... wall and... virtue... we needed to know...

how to get into stravinsky's... secret garden... back there


Sunday, October 19, 2003
a you... fiction... romance of mirrors... well-sprung order like

o... a puppet... let's see the man... there's a man... here


some part of unhappiness... in the poem of your dendrites...

cooler where god stands...a center... here and there...

i knew... there's no you... and i was a name learning

to light matches with my toes... in the course of time

i was a name... a hesitant smile and a hope... depending


my secret code... a string of ants and flies wriggling...

i wanted to say how i felt... so i ate one bug... i

wanted to ask for some help... so i stuck two up my nose...

when you threatened to walk away i managed to dry up

on the carpet behind your chair... a pathetic buzz here


waiting for your flight turns me into... a quill... or a nib... a bitter pint...

and you in the clouds... look better for laughing... wild crow...



my god... i forgot... i am always forgetting


next time bring plenty of red for the furniture... we like red

deep... muddy red... bring mustard and belgian waffles

for the walls... i will tell some secrets... and you'll believe them

long enough to write... let's drown the windows in carnage


said borges over toast... and my approval... lost in a cough...

slid to the floor... making it all up... inventing a procession

through the living room... neruda's monstrance big and liquid...

paz with a limestone censer... fumigates our map... crosses

us here and here... just before lunch... calms us down for good


Saturday, October 18, 2003
wasn't that a blue version of our carpenter... in a dovecote...

under pressure and swallowing everything in sight... bosses...

the rules we made... a picket fence... i'm telling you... wasn't

that something... in a gray vortex... and we spun it high... so


or under orders not to remember punch lines... not to remember

who called first... not to remember gas lines and flimsy exercises...

all of us stumbling like mad geese in moonlight... a slippery cause...

and still under orders... preparing for the Yes and No... putting on

the names of nothing... layers of cotton... hours and days... for us


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