Friday, February 28, 2003

so it's true...

i wanted the baroque imagination... but it evaded

me... i wanted the casual heroism of the street...

but my shoes were too tight... and i wanted

your smile all over my place... but you

must have been reading my mail... it's all

pretty bad company... where i come from



trapped like a rat...as they say

the exams have been scored... you...

rat...have not exceeded our expectations...

forget about ice cream... forget about carnaval...

more time for you under the bed...

seeking dust bunny truth... there




Thursday, February 27, 2003

you think it's...

obfuscation...

and you might be right...

but why... and from where...

does it come like

a neural shiver...

a dream... this part

that keeps insisting...

that i keep obliging




come back i'll try harder
to understand how the body
wants whatever you bring
like pictures or ideas
of old europe even the dust
of the old west because
the body will hold them
closer than clouds it wants
new ink and fresh paint for
the roses everyone is planting
and the book written
by the body will explain
why you walked off with death
just when the cold came
roaring into town so come
back there is still a chance
for you even inside
my forgetfulness i'll take
whatever you bring just
come back and make yourself
a brittle black artist who
doesn't know a thing
that will be enough for me
just come back



wear shoes in the house...

because the floors are dirty...

because they wear shoes... in the house

some reasons are good enough...

golden orange purple gray cerulean silver

are good enough... reasons...

let me... write... with these tiny dots...

the president will call... me...

and... i'll... be ready... to

stand for... something...

your baroque imagination... for example...

the soles of a tired man's... or

woman's... feet... a master's

revenge on Bernini... as the story goes...

you might fall in love with a certain...

slant of light... on cold marble...

or the colorful fabrics of less...

well-developed peoples... just before..

the shadows swoop down that...

wear shoes in the house because the floors are

dirty because they wear shoes in the house





Wednesday, February 26, 2003

above the cabinet... back by the wall...

there are three small boxes... this one

is for Martine, whose winter was astonishing...

this next is for Hubert, whose tongue altered

a delicate cathedral... and finally Francis,

whose laughter pickled the tidepool corpse...

Francis gets the gray one...

the nervous one




if you could see us now you would understand that most of us are a bit sadder than last time... it might be the water demons that have moved in behind the garage... but most of us think our sadness oozes through the cracks in the bathroom wall... that's where we feel it the most



we are not supposed to talk about it...

you know the rules...

funny....

everyone wants to be so...

interactive.... but everyone is so...

frightened...

we should not look so closely...

you know the rules...

pay attention





Tuesday, February 25, 2003

"did you hear i enlisted"...

just now... i guess... but i promised not to cuss...

or write about current events... it's been said that...

and... so...

here comes tomorrow... look out...

don't forget to write... every day...

we promise to think... of... you...

and still... to think well of you...




pleasure shapes us from the inside... a cat...

grooming lungs and liver... ribs... gullet... and even

that amazing organ of sixth sense... we lack...

jacobson's... licking it all... turning us into wild things...

lost... in rooms... confused in clothes...

empty... before these shadows... and lights




okay... the lumber has been cut... now

we just need some nails... the test of a good

tree... is the plunge of the nail...

now we all sit... silent...

expecting something brilliant to float down

around our ears...




Monday, February 24, 2003

some days you get to know something...

enough anyway... to ask a question...

to dress up this empty bowl with glass candy...

plastic apples and pears...

and... purple grapes




not nervous anymore... just... pretending

to be alive... as you are alive and happy...

in... somewhere... some major east coast city...

the porch light yellow becomes us...

we can imagine a nice future here...

our hands deliver gifts that no one expected




Sunday, February 23, 2003

oh boy... another one studies making...

another one wants a soul and some bread

...whose deaf stars play rough... shackled...

lashed... but only wants to be free... from the arena...

the dirt... the dear teeth




a sun face on the blinds like an old prophet

coming for pay... to collect the winter crow

hearts... the winter salt... for burning night




imagine you could do this all your life and then
somebody complains that you have done it wrong

imagine it again this time in france and then
somebody complains to the directeur that you have
kept him up... with your incessant pounding
dropping down through the... floor...
like... seeds to his head

he can't sleep... he can't even dance anymore

and it is all your fault... what would you do





the water flown in from... somewhere...

perfectly... new and inspiring... look

closely... the little live things are

waving... you wave too...




"excuse the mess, Pablo" ...flinging herself

down flights of grace... some muse staggers

in for the seminar on celibacy... and will take

us each by the hand... and will set her heart

on any one of us... like a well-worn book...

a very old story




did we come so far from the sun for this...

when we arrived they needed new eyes...

yes... we looked at the blue sky.... the brown lawn...

the circles of black salt...

and all the moving things...

we called it here... for now...

and they were happy enough to pay us well

but... now we can't remember what sin we...

which time... we had promised... to...


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