Friday, September 19, 2003
announcing all the trumpets... a flying horde turns

left and whiles the sun... wheres the heat... stores

a candle back there... under thinking it never flows

that you young thing have wings... a turbid dream...

acting modern and generous in shoes... then

i tempt anyone standing to sit... then i maul a

course of angels and vote... ferociously... musical...


cornering my ferocious gleam... you stifle one smirk

and verify our trouble... how come you never

whistle any more... let me put it another way...

the ground rumbles... something drips hoarsely...

an aerial stunt evades our thin wires... we hum


Thursday, September 18, 2003



self-turned badness... licks up the last insight... makes

it wheeze finally... smears mirrors with humble goo...

o honey... take me to the river... washa me...


To be fair, this is an above average poem for Hall,
who everyone knows to be an utter mediocrity.


so it goes in the end... to have it written so simply... naked...

a cold place for us all... far from mother... and friends...

whose gestures... are never enough... a good-sized rock

for coyote... who only... actually... ever wanted to be...


Wednesday, September 17, 2003
anyone could be my dog... come on... i'd behave myself...

anyone over there in scotland... or bermuda... come on...

anyone from belleville... or down petersburg way...

come on... i'd be your dog too... anyone from joliet...

(from a moment with uncle tupelo gratis iggy and the stooges)


sure stumble grinning... they love you for it... blue fog

red sunrise... yesterday held me screaming... so kind

when the weather shifts toward metallic empathy...

they painted your name... all over the windows


Tuesday, September 16, 2003
how quiet it said you'll see... our tomatoes drizzle... or touching

on a matter of some delicacy... we eliminated No... concentrated

on a blind worm... silent to these ears... upending trust's o yes


this kind of... thinking takes us quickly through the alphabet

grinding kisses into hours... don't say that...

forswear the body...
teach the fire...


if a toad were darker... the morning would pass...

some paths walk us... a hint... a useful wisdom

cornered me yesterday... bog breath...

skunk wedding justice... so we walk... on...


Monday, September 15, 2003
getting out at last we know how you did it...

sent off to the siberian closet... our hunger

our fast corners.. it all adds up... and a window

seems to notice... how you did it... a prince...

i recall your ermine cape... worn through summer


how a gradual mirror... waves back... we're passing

and naming... passing... how the mirror seems steady

in our lightness... naming gradually... and passing...

i wanted more from your standing up... straight


Sunday, September 14, 2003
seamed sheets of light and shadow... a nickel... gutter life

in American History: Progress and Promise... taken slowly

we're opulent... now... and dropping to our brittle knees...

we've turned into grey birds... was a janitor... was a

Yes Man... now... only the bug hunt... the twig...


"Putting some words down and relying on an apparent richness in their connotations that allows the reader to infer connections is not writing a poem."

no... not a poem... a darker lane... suppose...

where the kids rush past shadows... closer... trashcans

every bush... a stranger with a knife... helped on to the next

brighter spot... moving quickly... ahead the only way...

with bloody violence closing in... or maybe... once...

some music without words... woke... a tone-deaf kid...


Saturday, September 13, 2003
i show no... smarty boy... you sent me out

to get... i left them in your pocket... no smarty

boy... coming home... i left you... a stubble

handed them out like mints... no... not...

smart when the carpet came... not smart

in the hurricane... helpless... and groaning

what is this now... what does it count

send me out... again... next time i'll get it


for whom are experimental poets writing?

i'm not one of them but if i were... you'd be

younger... not frightened exactly... but unsettled

by a world bigger than... what hope can hold...

you know how small your mind gets... and an

emotional mishap sends you running... closer

to terror... a simple cool aluminum pot... what

you want shakes your hand... where you go

relieves a blindness... a seedless grape of

a metaphor... pregnant... you find a stable

good enough for now... for a while...


hooks... what are these yellow flowers... or these purple

grasses... new fog for blue commuters... a mention

in the flood... we're coming back with open hands...

we're factual... brilliant... a permanent argument...


i run ahead for awhile... i wait for... you... or

you turn off and we never meet again... or

i've stumbled onto an impossible way...

suddenly sensible as if... a sleeper...


back to finish your phrase currently

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