Friday, January 02, 2004
we know you flatten spectacles... called them glasses... ironed

your tongue so smooth... your winter came full friendly enough...

took us walking out to the lightning place... where the dead deer

roam... we know you harp on the softer side... we know you do


one more headline counterindicates... gravity... in the head's

verse... a pasture of fallen matter... convinces itself to grow

substantial... saying things like... o there you are... i thought

you had swallowed the evening at last... but o there you are...

saying things like... save me from the machine... red kindness...

always a you in the saying... from out the grey door's page ...


read us milton pope or that other poet... to prove it...

an indigent flame... you get the picture confused with

me in my horrible prayer... how everyone expected a lie

and found rousseau chardin bleeding contritely... in a

very nice frame... never ask me that again... glum sir

and i'll blink for you... i promise a timely true blink


quantum bullets... a slanter pulling from the right hears

it's not... what the republisher desires... but a cord

over freely... knocked like winners in a wheatfield...

groups of wishers have feathered... belief... trounced

urgent and ready... saying this and the next brightness

call us... caught us stumbling bold... or blind in syntax


Thursday, January 01, 2004
Both poems, essentially, tamper with death...

as i put them on the back step... some dreary cat

sniffs dinner... but the new number needs stronger

light... out front... here the wind... figures life fiddles

out the problem... in its own good time... it figures


Wednesday, December 31, 2003
what skip james promised when honey's eyes went bad...

that we'd swing in the black pines... pretty soon... and

they'd be standing in the back door... crying... and

the years come down... far harder on the santa fe...

harder when you wanted... something bright and...


here a dire need compact in grey wool... here a wind...

any of a thousand... named for us in our shopping clothes...

here a standing dance... a flourescence round as a dime...

comes about calling... who's got the beer... who's here...


the real sadness didn't come as a wave... it was a box

that needed unwrapping... just before sleep dropped it

so we had to twist around to find... it falling... a solid

feature of the new age... a dark and supple satisfaction


Tuesday, December 30, 2003



this one gave me some trouble... i coughed for a week

and released the rights to coughing like that... so you

can try it now... put your right hand through your left

lung... wish for an opera... wish for a holy book... say


i'm not counting now but will be soon... you dare me to

finger it... so i'll finger it there on your desktop... marked

red for the season... counted at last... put... as belonging

at the bottom of the list... with untrue tales... crumby hope


movement away from the chauffeur... or eyes like sweet coffee beans

troubled in the teeth... dry wonder in a small fissure... this came

to light... while we opened one after the other... the story flopped

out but... it always does... toward ice or stone...

one bird in the blue... an occasional fact


Monday, December 29, 2003
cobra sump... a little growth in the underway... a fortune

in goliath's backpack... where ever we went... followed

by venom trails... lacking merit... we talk like this because

the straight line lies...
over and over across county lives


lately version matters more... than singular...

this lets any horse prance darkly home... whinny

at the window... scrape a hoof... remind us

of the term we learned in school... in a book


too smart to say the funny thing... we say the regular

thing... and bind it with plain string and toothpicks...

you get what gathers... you get an almond baked alphabet


Sunday, December 28, 2003
quarantine under the stairs has us dreaming of small flowers...

grey glass to the touch... have you ever wilted for them...

in the drubbins... in the fornetta... beside the sea's

damp salt... you loved me with your eyes...

just before i skadaddled...


or feet... you forgot to mention... feet...

their durable... unexceptional... standing and going...

my sincere apologies coming down the wire... now

a silvery hollow space... for standing and going...

mashed down on the starter... called it machina

lingua
... the gift upright... both standing and going


well... a deepening softens the granite volume...

my hands over there... put you on edge... cliffside

views for the whole family... the whole mystery

shredded in the glowy morning... and a sign...

we wrote it... and the paper cut my fingers...

but we wrote it anyway... and jiggled on down


Saturday, December 27, 2003
i make you... out to be... one of those misty wranglers...

energy comes from opening... an envelope of breath...

and all your wealth depends on fog... a sudden drop

i predict... it... i pronounce your doing and your going


made quickly... as an address for weary travellers... somebody stops

talking long enough to notice the incorporate air... a thrill... a sight

for sore eyes
... as i would have said... all this space happening

along a line... straight enough to get us home... back to an auto-

biographical instant... folded back into privacy's pot... a lucky...


back to finish your phrase currently

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