edges corrode centers... or shift from the heart... either way

these yellow trees... this fire... pretends to know an urban truth...

stuffed in back with the groceries... never a discount uncut...

i mean if you rub the paper hard... enough... it will tear...

we're all waiting for you... and your faceless... beauty
posted at 10:30 AM

some small thing creeps in... and shivers
posted at 8:39 AM

boring and boring again... i'm boring and boring again...

until i trade my soul for an orange balloon... a micro-mini mousepad...

a ticket to the next save me walter...

a big fete for these boys in black... strangely awake

and happy...
posted at 8:08 AM

i'm still looking for the grammar they accused me of burying with

your stud potatoes... i'm still gnawing on my voice... its ankles

and clouds... which in the meantime slinks away forever toward television...

where there's no escape from my tasteful bourgeois diction... seizing...

come over soon... i've got our prescriptions sorted... alphabetically...
posted at 7:21 PM

but we had sleep coming up... and a foot in the mud... no silence

and some worries... the job was too big... and we were blind

beside our vehicles... we wanted more than we could get... and

some angel passing... spoke an idea that only some heard...

and fewer understood... go... strike the shepherd that the

sheep may be dispersed... these gardens rise up overnight
posted at 3:22 PM

here... when he walks toward me... or away... his feet

slide on the floor... like he's wearing slippers... at any moment

they might jump off across the room... but he's not wearing

slippers... he's not... these are ordinary shoes... and shuffles
posted at 3:06 PM

insisting while sitting... breathing... a pulse... what we wanted

takes us into the drumheart... a shadow longer than easter

lends us magnitude... no i really mean... all options have been

strung up... on this line where birds hunch together in wind
posted at 9:42 AM

where it comes from smells like old books and worry sweat...

where it comes from listens for a clue... and pretends to pray...

every syllable is shaped to please... and heroes... boy... heroes

have stunk up the place... for far too long... peel back these

twentieth century lips... leave the teeth... a silver ring... grin
posted at 7:07 PM

should we write the quote out... is she talking

to her sisters... what was the purpose... improving

an impulse... like jumping from basement windows

our eyes are full of fingers... our eyes are full of grief
posted at 12:17 PM

very poor feathers... spoken all the way down... in cold

versions... nothing troubles us... but the clouds remind

some... of the horse's breath... or red smoke flowing
posted at 12:13 PM

at some point he must tire... or the routine does him in... this calling

and knocking... a foggy patience... surrounded by a melancholy ticking

birds and insects take off their gloves... stuff them in the sky...

frumpy gods go down bubbling... frumpy gods go... down
posted at 4:01 PM

how many dots... how far they stretch into... the evening

so far... and so lonely... any cattle turn away... face the tree

and we push our feet... so many dots... trying to forget...

through the rough green... shrubbery... colder... soon
posted at 3:57 PM

oranges from the south... a girl has her feet wrapped in silk...

any coronation begins with screaming birds... so carry

me off... in moony brilliance... the fourth of october finds them

crying and laughing at their ridiculous faces... mirrors on the floor
posted at 3:54 PM

then pictures made firm gestures and wilted... like religion

after 1950... heroes brewing good coffee... good enough... ok

magazines made everyone feel better... like explorers actually

learning something tremendous... unusual patterns of ice...

and we are still waiting for the gardener to explain... oxygen
posted at 9:53 PM

what the television said... we called it an orbit... took us

past a clarity we never caught... we bought a book and... grew...

thin... in our funny museum... using the remote as... an extra pen
posted at 9:52 PM

you can get lost in it... or if you have any friends... your finality

ruffles them... as if mercury's mind couldn't hold a straight

line toward the body... we wanted... the body but found

ourselves lost in... the yellowness... the mystery they said

we'd find... there... beneath the tree... at the road's end
posted at 3:13 PM

o... my... blunderbuss... o my cardiac...

o my trouble shoot... o my... truthful ruse...

in the grey or black... from the hearth or back

by the office... o my paper cut... o my relic...

what you didn't say... when i sang... o...

my mandarin... stepping to this podium
posted at 2:37 PM

appended and courteous... this version takes a careful look

at boundaries... violated and smug... the apple orchard

soliloquy bears repeating... a cormorant's wing... or...

an overweening hush... bears repeating... with a bow
posted at 2:36 PM

"I wept this yesterday afternoon so all of this..."

makes me a member of the chorus... off to the side...

in these heavy robes... breathing my fear... back in...

those hills dress like... the king's wife... and these goats

never mattered much... my arms are finally heavy enough
posted at 2:27 PM

do people really try to be so... smart... or so sharp

that theory writes a pome... sends it off to mom...

cancels all dinner plans... farts... and suffers... for

its idiot children... wins a small but dynamic readership...

and sleeps in the arms of enigma... flourescent... safe
posted at 4:30 PM

what happens... the line stands over its pretty victim... no...

the line recognizes friendship across a smokey room... and...

the line delivers a punch... it's a punchy line... and pizza...

full of itself the line... tells us all about it... self... the shore...

the single bird... screeching for its fellows... one note
posted at 4:25 PM

i'm the master of my... forgetfulness... qu'est-ce qu'il y a...

the profile indicated a proclivity... for sleeping... eating...

never in the papers... but ruthless... concise and fumacious...

we settle in... and the day grieves our final oversight... a piece

of fruit... please... a hand up the escarpment... some levity...
posted at 3:43 PM

for turning into the president... even more than thirty years

after promising... and huddling back into safety... forgetting

with very few pictures... a lasso... a red bag... really nothing

and yet... what became of... that embarassment... once

we remembered that... we were not right... had never been
posted at 3:40 PM