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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... back to finish your phrase currently 
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