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Friday, May 23, 2003 another imaginary line... turn away... compels us to organize a false face... remember... and advance toward another imaginary line less certain than a seam... what do you need... fall here... earth is soft all over you have no rite to
be sad... a blind swivel to the left... a sudden bow... everthing you touch is beautiful enough... with a golden center... an egg becomes you... bend your notion into tiny tunes... nobody cares... we've painted more apples red... for you... noon will dream you whole... just stand aside and let it Thursday, May 22, 2003 cast me out... on the waters of your reasonable suspicion... my motorcar running hot... my metaphor stumbling to the side of a depression-era building... and you were calling to me... "i mean it... but you can keep the wig"... my subtlety will not let me sleep... again in your arms or under a thin suburban tree... let me go... this motorboat running low up to night's hard window... let me in, mr. morning... Wednesday, May 21, 2003 on the street... i was looking for some propane anaesthetic ... some gorgeous analgesic ... what is this... why are you plodding... because "the sun is a ball of burning gas"... because "you have to do something" every day... run circles... dust shelves... what if that sun exploded... and suddenly we spun out into darkness... what if... why are you chasing these gnats no one ever catches... a soul is a funny thing to find in words... or wrapped in brain goo... in fiber of arms and legs at work and rest... a soul is like... a busted metaphor ... some fact Tuesday, May 20, 2003 it wasn't much fun anymore... a chore...
you said... and still... these blankets flying out windows... these buckets of sleepy fish... seem worthwhile after all the other business... with lines and pages fumble around... let
us know what you find... fingers are such a nuisance... this one goes to market... gives us pure thought... this one... strikes... old fire for a new heresy... charred to an inconspicuous soot... we'll paint our skeptical mugs night-like... where everyone comes loping toward dawn... big mammals snuffling truth snoutishly unfingered... and ready for school Monday, May 19, 2003 bad poetry had ears like a cat until we clipped
them off... then bad poetry had a nose that sniffled until we
drugged it... then bad poetry laughed an embarassing laugh and
coughed a few times... we pulled it from the fire at the last
possible moment... it lived... but smoldered unpleasantly for
a few weeks... o the stories we could tell about its feet... a careful resignation...
requires a flame no brighter than theirs... put your fingers over your empty spaces... hold back the breeze... tell your children to gather quietly at twilight... then begin... winter and summer trees alike need sun... need water... so children... i'll walk out this morning... and end where the road takes me... now... listen to your mother... Sunday, May 18, 2003 assume yr at the center then pull yrself out to the edge stay a day... many... watch them busy in their concentric haze
tell yrself the day is good... still...
yr roughed up "in the coarse of time" the light touch of the edge misled yr days... they find you now... rumpled worn walled-eyed from wondering out there toward a new verge... more the edge than this... still... leave a light when you shift away again no words came down
through the gutters no songs... but a tiny music... like stones... like dust... preparing a blunder... an emergency of tunes... so restless... you'd think the walls were kids Saturday, May 17, 2003 this time... double your chances... you get a window... but you also get a door... what's to be done... with the birds and the foxes... the music and the words... move around a bit... make some noise how... thin strings...
struck in time... send you out... to birds and bushes... lifting and falling... to africa and mississippi... lift you down... to creekside... dancing here... all day shining... incognito back to finish your phrase currently  |