Friday, March 19, 2004
these are not enough... waking up in denver... a certain sin...

i said so... they said it again... works at yr soul when you get it

this sad thing... where you lost it out west... turns a mad red


where'd it go... a grey light... my looking for it

lost it... your heavy finger traced a silver arch

near the city... all the bands came home and we

sang for feathers... all the golden kids... final...

we'd promise another truth... guess peace...


for a bridge take these... what you might call arms

with a few miles to go... we've got an army of them

crooning valleys before... the fierce and silent scrim

a blight from a heart... crossing three ways...

one looks like our child... left over from the longing


marsh
doom

a cancellation
a closet

tin swamp
swine fate


there's no thing to remember... it's all about

forgetting... freedom's... no fear in a room...

posit your bothers... inklings... urgents here


Thursday, March 18, 2004
or take a box of crickets... shouldered by tom thumb...

a corrosive melody turns heads... along the muddy lane

five or six cows sway... a collaborative melt... toward crazy

cow talk... milk... and tom's mercantile virtue... bug soul


imagine an italian stage... old mother hubbard struggles

across with eyes like grey pillows... our laughter displeases

her... then the chorus swoops down like snow... lifts her

up in a grand crescendo of children... everything she ever

wanted... accomplished... curtain... dinner and a smoke


Wednesday, March 17, 2004
"What is it with this cult of the new?"

hardly sprung from lunch... and we've got dry cleaning...

married the dugong to the manatee... expecting money...

counting on the low edge... dust where the broom won't go...

bring candles wear sandals meet scoundrels play pregnant...

whatever groans... in the sour half-light before it all makes sense


i can read half the poem... but clocks... stopping now... a kid

finally beside my own book... called ferocious... terminal dub...

clocks and benches... immodest priorities ... insects at noon...

half the poem thinks it has something to say... but the other


i mean you knew sounds and hurt them...

i mean the nerves never recover fully...

i mean here's the knife alluding to...

i mean sin... and the carriage overturned...

i mean long as you can go... on one breath...

i mean you taking it with the rest.. this rope

i mean a blankness just after a fullness... sated

i mean we're heavy now... neon lumber... lucid


an o poem bubbles... consistent pressure demands

an orchard... an offer... an odor... curvaceous as

an odalisque... suffering through the impartial door...

an o's exceptions... heated under supper... delicious

offal... a month's work scuttled... red ochre... blush


add renoir... fils not pere... he'd slice it thicker... but

i've got my eye on an excavation... what rises counts

toward no personal achievement... blues and yellows

converge to... some other idolatry hammered in green


Tuesday, March 16, 2004
have some troubles append a small list... escape or resignation...

my syntax is your public nuisance... but yes sir... a cancellation...

markets humor black stubble... irritable rhymes with abnegation...

humors me... all theory lost... kindly trust my stuffed abbreviation


what this emptiness... sings a field where there's no field...

no farmer no plow... what it says to a door... what it knows


ankles and purposes reasonably firm... my fingers

of bent paperclips... tell the tale... book it... hurry

hurry back home... these fly... moments in chorus


Monday, March 15, 2004
that's my replica coughing... my source under sentence

a merciful limit... stilling the subtle moons of me... a loss

will shuffle me... unhurried hands putting me sung... here

look i'm a voucher... my replicant voices... stones... a phrase


i stopped wanting to say things... and bit my finger

for the son... who rides his father to school... folds

him into the narrow locker with loose paper... books...

father does not enjoy his days in there... but son

appreciates all that a father is willing to do for him


for growing tear a list from the air...

a species hesitates at the edge of a new craft...

believe me when i tell you... this love is true

in most industrialized nations... some balk

at the transitions... but they're necessary... all


Sunday, March 14, 2004
mounted eyes on paper... exaggerated disciples...

a few boring minutes next to them... violent results...

merciless copper tunes made me... nervous and big...

i'm coming over... you be ready... all my endings blink


whose dizzy body can't remember... comes pushing desire

like the homeless woman... we wanted more than bags and boxes...

we're finally back with laughter lit... our books match the shadows...

coded by the higher frequencies... looking here and there... for us


ancients reassemble justice... a mechanical loss in the wind...

i want it better... but not more... certain velocities toughen

digital skin... come dance again old parts... our signals hear


Saturday, March 13, 2004
a colossal knocking always steers me off... you too...

so we're found in profile... silhouette and profile while

the carpenters plumbers heavy machinery operators

instruct the world... to move over there... to the window

where skinny birds... where a tree... demanded... commanded


cat stilling a very puddle of native fate

a presidential conception leads me on

cat brooding out from plastic skulking

a presidential hovercraft compresses me

cat inciting mirrors blessing dust of body

a presidential alergy catches me home at last


i keep the sun out the trees out... what passes

for fresh air... out... cinderblock paranoia doors

romantic window figures... cancel me cancel me

count me up... i've got yr number... right here...


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