Friday, May 09, 2003
onlyest thing i forgot to say was... bring

your heartstumps out to the green field...

bring your fingerlumps over here tonight...

we'll jump rivers like little brown bugs... we'll

organize a garden in the shadow light... you

carry the cheese... i'll bring the folk art



unclose your syllabus... stumble up

to the light in some kid's question...

these deliveries arrive... irregularly

like prescriptions under the counter...

tell us what's on yr mind... did

you like the part where emily jumped

from the ledge and turned

into a beautiful grey stone falling

through cool black oceans

toward the perfect answer?



Thursday, May 08, 2003
these kids they got... no sense...

trade em in for better stuff...

they live like plastic spoons and forks...

they live like static cling... a snap a surge...

these kids need pomes... look at em

all angry bored and tribal... jumping

round any sun... that seems to shine...



fog... insinuates... studies us...

lights up a cavity of sense... in the night

called dark... here's another layer

like the seashell ceiling deep down

brilliant... soul caving... ghost heart



Wednesday, May 07, 2003
they...
grin back from the mirror...
taunt us from a near distance...
exaggerate our confusion...
pretend they are having a good time... and
unleash a fury... a clamor... among the professors of literature...

float... dumb as facts... three inches above the desk...
break out in hyper-anxious acne... yet
present the calm certainties of the profoundly clueless...
rattle our complacency...
scare us in the basement...

help us feel better about ourselves... and
convince us that there must be a god...
deliver useless mail...

bad writing...



it's the game... see... ya... take it easy...

play it when you need... something...

he'll always suspect "an ulterior motive"

... what do you really want... never mind

i know... these waves... crashing... right now



Tuesday, May 06, 2003
suddenly the words stop... something goes solid...

we never understand the logistics of... it isn't exactly

silence... a low sussuration as from a young machine

occupies our ears... never understand how ripe phonetics

fall to stone... just because there are no more words...

but we appreciate the openings... and use them to our

advantage... suddenly... dinner demands more from us



humming in my brain... like a sandpaper chainsaw...

has some whistling toward the moon... like you

listening to the blues... singing with your lips... breath

on a steel track nobody rides... skinny moon now

breaking blue windows up here... call me when

you get back... baby... i fall down... shining



Monday, May 05, 2003
teacher teach yourself...

lord your smoke all go... down around the corner

down by your city... down by your sun... pretty

soon the tree begin to rise... bad rattlesnake mornings

coming soon enough... to make your eyes roll back...

to stretch your eyeballs thin... coming of the no more...

coming of the all been done... this hard sun... sure going

to be your last... that day... got lightning in its smile



Sunday, May 04, 2003
it's a flashlight... his name comes just before you need it...

this is code for the trouble you find... everywhere...

a deer leg hanging from the crotch of a young tree...

something wilder than streelights... listen... the rain

is talking to itself... a ruthless conversation... imperious

in black puddles... a subtle tyrant... insisting...



no one out there now... look at the heavy gold under all those clouds... must be the trees... silent as a sunday... everyone's eating... robins and crows have the world to themselves... books laugh at us... someone said... we'll have to pretend we know something... alright... who's been to school... who talked to teachers... knew their favorite beer... all these poets have eyes for pencils... but they're missing the birds... who will never be smart enough


turning ourselves inside out... all our slender resources now bright in the world... we'll need some new stories... a common person suddenly singing birdsong... dirtsong... arias of liver and spleen... tell me you are too busy...so am i... no time to live clearly... no time to play... bluesongs... penciltales... true and false... "o honey was that right or wrong?" mix me up... now that my heart's reading pomes


Saturday, May 03, 2003
making something when the air is tired... give yourself a pat on the back... everyone is tuned in to his or her own station... rub your whiskers... spit in your palm... turn up the sun... rearrange your blues... dangle them from your famous mistakes... the ones that everyone celebrates around the dinner table... let the moon drop silent sheets over your grave confusion


once we had eaten all the animals we began to have visions... i was a fierce dog on fire... your eyes stuttered like a broke-wing crow and whistled toward the moon... he bent back toward the cattails with a long fat croak that pleased all the ladies... she swallowed her tail...

tomorrow we'll go shopping and stay up late to watch television