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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... 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 back to finish your phrase currently  |