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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 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... back to finish your phrase currently  |