Friday, July 18, 2003
if you don't lean on the pronouns everything will shimmer

and tumble... you'll have trouble with your world... people

will not recognize your gait as you approach... will

forget your name... how far you have come


and they are respectful... i appreciate that and don't mean

to be rude... forgetful is correct... you mean everything to me...

in this empty discourse... seriously... we have some suffering

to acknowledge daily... it is always difficult to... transcend...

bad pomes have pricklers and hurt under our nails...

we each appreciate that in our own way...


don't talk about it... here we're having a nice day...

if you say it... something wilts... or heaves up a grey cloud...

i am special... you saw those titles... mind your mouth...

here we have a nice flower... it's yellow... and red

everyone thinks of a different flower... when i do that...

and says o i know just what you mean... o shut up


Thursday, July 17, 2003
hey i was holy long before your head took off... i was bending myself into a thousand strange shapes that looked like me... and you were counting toothpicks vaguely... still i was longing for spiritual uncertainty and poetry hadn't said anything smart enough so i was holy holy holier than thou... son... just remember where your grin comes from... just remember who thought you into paper...just let me slip off into the stream alone... hey i was something long before... big frog croaked


o still thought... you had a place... cold shack

by a rich river... o stillness... i'm losing you

every day farther from our sense of humor...

golden frieze... putting the best foot

where it might be found again... daily...

we were trying to say... how pleasant the breeze

assumes our shape...


had the world under a kind of control... had it

there... you see it... and i was talking about it

as you might talk about anything visible... a cat

for example, or a broken window... had it known

and was breathing... by the frog pond and the bird

branch... knew it in color... you see... had it...

then words began to sweat and melt... like...

well... you know about sweating and melting...

and suddenly i wasn't saying a thing anymore

and suddenly my happiness...


Wednesday, July 16, 2003
A small cloud arrived from that part of the world.

Our applause persuaded another entrance from there.

Three sleek white birds ordered us to leave.

Houses suddenly remembered what they had forgotten.

We turned our backs on a splendid scene and wrote home.

Postcards no bigger than a small child's hand wandered off.

Justice demanded a larger piece of chocolate cake.

Another subject verbed its way off through a sullen mist.


fuzzy head... forensics has weighed in... the television heart

pumps... you cannot go dressed like that... what were you thinking...

you cannot rub a thought against a wonder... you must step out

into the garden of recognition... call each thing by some name...

each thing becomes it... for a moment... sharpen our golden pencil...


Tuesday, July 15, 2003
not like your subject... not like a good time

more like your huge couch... a projected rush

to call it good... not like your subject...

the book had good paper... a title


mark the line... how it stutters into... night

he was young... and had thin fingers... o

a carpet... grey... annotates the site

you thought a brighter window

would serve...


hurry off... a blazing mist... and robins

frame a cardboard series... this house...

this book... this window... when a car

takes us down the street we'll jump

like kids... rocking fields know us well...

we are the ones with great big noises...

we are the ones in shoes




Monday, July 14, 2003
put a mirror here... encoded after

the heart said o the day is long...

where we had been good enough... they cheered

where we failed... small yellow flowers...

now i want all your special numbers...

you... spirit baker fire cobbler...

and lift my eyes to the silver glass

whence comes help... newborn


your statement turned me into a floating bug... never mind...

eventually it wasn't your fault... i hid my fingers in all the caves...

and kissed cold stone... no trouble now... next to none

while he re-touched our trusted corners... i look like

a bargain... grappling with twenty-nine reliable quandries


my summer window... recalls a fairy fact...

about the colors stretched... like eyes unblinked

and finally reconciled to the day's will... when all

seeing has hooks... and fish... when a felt breeze

sands us... temporarily rough furniture... altogether

a dancer likes water... but now and then utters

a rigid oath... dark boards under glass...

a cockatoo guessing strategy... losing feathers


Sunday, July 13, 2003
we prosed our way to monday... stood in line... took it and took it


if you just listened more... a girl like me had goldfish hair...

she understood a satire from far off... she tested cops


stop stop stop stop it says redeemed in the grey light

it says in the hot core that we're falling falling always

a bit smaller from the top farther lumped in the way

we swivel through wooden quarrels never alone here

you have taken the last one and i'm giving it to you

take it take it here you need it terribly more than i do


and shaped according to... dragon rules... stone alley

truths you get... out of breath... and sweat...

don't wait for me... i'm taking my time... turning

into the mystery handled sweetly... known

for my restless patience... rushing to sit still...

sing a loud song... out into... mute daylight




two small figures in a much larger space... are they white and green...

and the area... some dark brown... birdsong windows...

two small figures stand for the rest of us...

who sit... in a pool of apparent faith... that

this sitting and hearing matters... enough...

and finds us virtuous... or moving toward virtue...

kindly as the morning sighs... one question


Saturday, July 12, 2003
our sense of priorities shocks us... suddenly adrift

where we once were grounded... you liked me until

my mouth dried up... my green arms had planned

a colossal gift... now they're here at the bottom

of your oceanic disgust... just something more to read





say it again... it keeps me awake...

a shadow glides into blue light... a box

of... almost nothing... a wooden bird behind glass...

i'm there... a plum parrot rising to remember

over the silken plains of new jersey...


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