Friday, June 27, 2003
in france we fell through books to the countryside...

a small man's bicycle... white stone... green baskets...

they tried to verify our passion... i lent you my ruler...

i was a mirror to myself while you lost one map after another...

all the boat trip back we mimicked christian bob

and drank to ourselves... overpriced beardless icons


without this face we recognize history

in the backyard... a row of plain ordinary...

and another... no eyes... a prominent nose...

lips sometimes full... sometimes thin...

retractable... as in consideration of a storm


Thursday, June 26, 2003

Then       a           hush    .   .   .

s
u
D
D
e
n

ly NOT so......

e q u i v o c a l . . .

less a mess

than a Carpet

S o l i t u d e



[oddliness thanks to jordan (+ jean)]




embarrased every day... without a right

to be saying... voracious guernsey... never

an appropriate choice... your hateful voice

had given up... fallen back to a room

where nobody heard the broken things...

that is best... this shutting down to

softness... all stitched in patches


deliberate... man
------
once the jelly settles
------
wanted resurrection in a new body
------
it has to matter... some equation where
-------
explosive teaser windows
---
looked it up for the last time
-----
ruination masque tiptoe
----
a bounded boy... bleeded



never never never all at once
coming down on smart heads
not the wise... behind my window
you get a trembling light... i've got
nothing to say... and you know it
resembles patience facing it...
alone alone inside a never... got
your hands open... empty window
up... where... the birds go... ahead...
stilling the sun...we had one


you don't have to know how difficult it has been...

stand here... anyone who presents a flower must think

of beauty... in an ordinary way... we might become

uninvolved once the pretty thing goes hollow...

i would tell you something... to confuse myself...

carry it farther than the heights... of a mountain fortress


i can't tell you.. you wouldn't want to know that...

instead... listen there's a red-wing... someone

banging on a pipe in the sun... a rich man's automobile...

slowing down... and far below the roots of trees...

ghosts singing water... rock... time


hardly a blanket thrown over the day... small thunder tells

us another story... too many buyers taking their share....

you and i broken under devotional wheels... never counted for anything...

unless we count the days in venice... when... on stage they clapped us hard...

let me tell you the story... we were running...

inconsequentially... toward home... trees fell after us...

but we were swift enough... so... an epic... it was

unwound... in the skein of waterstreets...

we were drunken fish... happy enough for once


Tuesday, June 24, 2003
can you find the switch where ... it's too simple...

it can't unwrap itself... love... you have that look again


no seeing turns us into yearners... groping

like pond scum... by the way... stop forgetting...

turn into something useful... look... here

sits an old duck... there... a kid with a book





kindness will study hard... and a memory defines your music...

at last... the rest of history has turned into evening... a book

we've read before... and walking out uses us...

faithful servants... with thick lenses


Monday, June 23, 2003
think that they want it some way... you read in them...

pick your way through all the wanting you find...

it was never about their eyes on you


what seems to know more than

a frightened version of itself... comes

to unsettle us... just cry... even then

rust forces us to jiggle the pipes...

get set... go... you not so smart


who likes to be smarter and more compassionate than someone... who bends... who stutters into sunset with grey eyes... who wants heaven now... who invented misery... who is still... who is still here...


look out... if they catch those tears

you'll pay dearly... under the roses...

in public yet... yes eyes can study

fine books in a nervous light...

look out... if they catch those tears

they'll scratch you red...


our deliberate fingers drive home hoping

no one will find us carting off jewels... starting

one thing and beginning another... a collapsed

series of... intending dooms... believe me...

the day's blue noise will have to do


so the code for sadness is hidden in newspapers...

so turn your face to the window... so imagine

a future for fallen things... it comes to you

like the third or fourth dream... unasked...

as an answer made of light or steam


standing for the wall... toward the wall... a shell

breaks hopefully... new distances... prepare

for a long trip... you will be loved... a good day

to invest... avoid water... and sense returns...

we have never laughed so loud... or long


Sunday, June 22, 2003
nothing to make of words today...





Saturday, June 21, 2003
sudden language for the solstice... link these astral moments to others plainer... complaining that the flowers we plant haven't any roots... plainer others that bother the sun... falling... ever falling... in a word... exercise... you are doing something noble... at least it's not an experiment... which is ignoble... has no legs... tangled in your hair... some singer left this for you... arguably talented but a star... nonetheless... bright day nearly done now... call in the mopes out from the crimson dusk... finally something poetic to represent the pome... let it stand... for...


what do you want this time of morning words words stumbling into sunlight how would you feel if i took off without you slammed through the day with fingers flying pointing saying No Yes The Door Please you'd have some pity a little compassion for the sad fellow with no voice but here we are goners making tiny puddles splashing in them all day finding semi-precious gems down where the worms play see what i mean?


now a goldfinch might be a tailor... but you'd better speak plainly

or a lump of dirt might tremble... deliciously... maybes

multiply while the time bubbles down to a fine syrup...

sweet or bitter... their advice... a fine collection...

it fills his old cups and boxes... bulges his pockets...

to prove something sad... sad... sad... in a song


back to finish your phrase currently

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