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Friday, July 04, 2003 that nonsense tumbled down so we
wanted more butter for our corn... we were afraid of death this morning while they shaved us tenderly... that nonsense arrived grinning and drooling... so we pampered it... our fingers ached from plucking tiny truth... no toothpicks, no napkins, telling tales of brave ulysses... i will invite you if you promise not to speak terror duet... gumption rusted... historical pollen... tree belly... these fill out the sunshine diagram... call it hysterical kindness... a better day... jilted under the cumulonimbus an... inheritance... gutted welcome home more than
a hundred things each look something alike... a family resemblance... each one swearing the other is crazy... but you can't tell the difference until you've lived with each a thousand days... peeled each... stood in the shadow it makes... named it... given your waking and some of your sleeping to a consideration of the wrinkle... in each... now turn away... notice the white storm... gone west alone Thursday, July 03, 2003 empty this... had you forgiven
a politician... the winter settled all disputes... a polite disagreement with spring... and war came again... no politician remembered us freezing... or bleeding... so stand still... while we empty this bucket... of muddy clothing... a prayer rises... off... to the suddenly polite treetops as in your
peas... your mashed potatoes... your brocoli... the ragged command to hurry the day... spells us uncarefully... toward death's stubborn gate... rusted at last... and screaking effeminately harpsical... motors rush to night where dinner waits... and grace Wednesday, July 02, 2003 it has eaten most of our nervous...
strangled most of our doubtful... and yet... a green light rises like justice... so we shiver shimmer quiver... a yellow dream has taken us for a drive... a certainty that leans into american wind... fills out a verse that knows us... foundering towns astonishes
a long sleep... becomes a simple idea... and a cute one... sentimental lies yawn to the treetops... full of.... what pleases... no villains... just dogs... birds... well... the shadows do lurk pretty today Tuesday, July 01, 2003 do not elaborate on the report...
tell us to mind our own business... tell us how food may be gathered carefully in daylight... we might earn a few dollars in the trees... spending will quicken impulsive mercy... the victims will walk off... grey butterflies fallen to pleasure... wooden fire meeting a
cardinal... whorling... and known to suspect we are islands now... fingers like deserts in which the final questions have private names... brilliantine... forchando... siblector... dozel... we talk to each other across the tides... and remember the great lost birds... Monday, June 30, 2003 going to click... going to... with
a satisfactory click... everything happens... and then i remember to say... this will be me talking... a rich metaphor... for hoping that everything is going to... satisfactorily... click actual numbers...
stripped us of our tremors... shaking now... only... when the count goes down... i wished a fever for you and it came... embarrassed by my hair... everyone fell into our dream... so perfect in the mirror while we multiplied... counting degrees to fill the public space with light at hand a
specific red... never call it a favor... the silent gunnery locks down midnight... the next russian follows the last russian... children cry for summer... everywhere ... here they just cry toward the great grey moon... please tell us the frogs and the willow... tell us the father story... sunset... please Sunday, June 29, 2003 since we don't say things... we'll
have to dance and knowing the dance to do permits a laugh and a smile... since we don't "say things"... here is no talking... on the porch... lightning bug classes are full... everybody's blinking tonight... the chain link fence is full of excuses... nobody cares because the wine is good enough... and helps us not to say... carpentry
stopped when all signs triggered a reminiscence of rejuvenation... they looked it up... found the french had eight handles on "menager"... you can never go wrong with french... boy... to probe a fresh wound beneath some chemise some hundred
lines... a pack of smokes converge at the corner... where joey met jim... debbie met sue... home in 1958 we called it... the carburetor stomp... a gas already... lost out by the slough... no gun excited as
an animal spirit... a pixel leaps... regardless of the juice... over here we have a strange new language... made of vegetable fiber... illustrating places dark and bright... you may come an organization
suspects... frivolity will need patient reaping... pretty soon... go on tell us you have better things to do... i was walking without you... long ago... sunny days on pebbled feet... water cf. my feelings in appendix one Saturday, June 28, 2003 able standing makes us feel better
feelings properly up to face whatever sky plunges down we all wanted to go somewhere before they took us we find things are sullen now and want a change so a dream studies us inside out... you see all across
america they were trying... trying... trying... to reverse a concentric circle... flowing deep... go away... you cannot write a political... it's all all across america... small brown bugs find ears and eyes and noses... wear expensive plastic helmets... assemble juice music... and vote for evening over and over again... taking eden out for a spin... trying and trying... trying a fear and
then another it's all fear and frightening o some poor imagining struck the day in a fairycar ten old ones shuffled names good people have forgotten barely distant folded close like the sunsplotch warm and scarey all the kids ran out in rain shrieking lost metallic syllables you burrow into this brilliant page and i go faster for you... faster back to finish your phrase currently  |
