Friday, May 30, 2003
when you get tired of this

you can sing the blues

"o bay-buh...

honey what's wrong wit you"



in hand... the pen becomes

the past... of surfaces

burnished toward some

metaphysical... suchness...

a sullen pocket... a clue

... let's look again...

open that book...



correct me... another sad thing turns

the year over to flight... an arrangement

made quickly... he mentioned the sale

of simple books to some who...

should have known better... scribbling

into the night... look again...

our secret code an armature... bearing

a most necessary load... simply

valid... and stammered like thought



Thursday, May 29, 2003
casual sequence... a black spider

on my ceiling... no... it's a star

laughing... and falling... i stand

(tombstone)... old man... whiskers

full of lunch... brushes a white crumb...

no... a spider... from his shirt...



i got little red spiders bright as a toy

here and there... walking blood on

these white pages... not mine



Wednesday, May 28, 2003
over words a summer hovers... calling

restaurants for the feast... tumbling

yellow feathers... we'll all wear

feathers and eat birds... for their song

and their flight... ridiculously

but not finally... symbols... turned

towards meat... a vast stuffing



black pine sheets tonight... shaken

up through church clouds... nothing

comes down... comes down



cool... we kids say... sufficient...

beautiful and surprising... when the rain

is done... another blessing strikes...

the day... dues all paid... we've finally

breathed our first installment... not...

finally... bled it...



Tuesday, May 27, 2003
and rush... like a fleuve... a floater

cashing in... another pretty recommendation...

did you think you'd fly when they caught you...

hurry... mister o so serious... stumbling

when the bird laughs... now... three

black ones and a grey... now... three

green sprigs pushed up... not meaning

but smiling at another dark morning...

cough again... lift the next foot



the obscure pome hits a wall we made...

slithers down to a puddle... quivers...

makes a stupid face up at the sky...

sings... o wall wall no elephant...

no prescription for feathers... stand

me home... wall o wall... rescue what

the pencil saw... save the little book



Monday, May 26, 2003
scattered they say... like a handful of pennies skipping

across that cool grey terrazzo... my idea...

my intention... in pieces... descends and skitters

toward night... let me say... a broken thing

now that it's done... a once-useful ornament

now incomplete again... as a name...

my idea... my intention...

spinning wild... settling down... over there



Sunday, May 25, 2003
if i said my hands were thick stone

that cannot remember a cold night

or a hot day... would you argue

that a metaphor is useful only

when sadness has been put off

like a troubling condition

the doctors can't explain...

and here we are healthy as cattle

on some american range... now...

would you finish my sentence...

tear some bread from the loaf

between us... smile... and say

there's more to speaking

than picture-making... there's

a necessary wall of actual stone...

you say... call it the truth...

and still... i browse here...

where clouds gather harmlessly

there you are... the other side...

up to your knees in trout and

information... laughing...

long after the sun has gone

and all the nouns asleep...



Saturday, May 24, 2003
remaindered... shattered under a deadline...

all of us wait now... for the general

collection... hair and smiles... eyes and...

paper... lines around our tumbling galleries

have been selling well... we all agree

the new art is the best art... it's so new



it doesn't matter... something wrong with him

standing under ghostly trees while

you and i dance fresh asphalt sunshine...

call us... we'll smile... our names

are heaving now... out into the day

everyone remembers his patience...

we want all the clapping now... now



bottle clinking someone talking background....

saying about... past power...

this song with a beat... soon a hit

with the listeners... drummers

lining up for joy... guitars standing

alone on the ceiling... everybody

looking up... for angels here



back to finish your phrase currently

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?