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Friday, April 16, 2004 not so... for the scraps... they
make me itch... they make the next line... necessary... maybe worth a moment... what's ever... next or next... all improbably merciful engines Maybe
I oughta get stuck into something... maybe i oughta encourage transparency... or paint it... silver... maybe i oughta lasso yr most improbable smile... maybe you oughta come a little farther this way... and quickly... maybe i oughta dress like an authority... in a spiritual tie... maybe i oughta blend bicker slice fruit...till kingdom come the biggest
flirt or the most organized... here's today in bifocals... a condition we took seriously... & changed ourselves... we become the monument... and shine Thursday, April 15, 2004 as tied up we were as... forbidden
to laugh so we didn't... but as tied up we were... one of our edges began to burn and then the other... so as tied up as we were our heavy pomes went all gooey toward a grin... but not laughing... and stitchery...
coming up scarlet... profuse as leather bits in the vicinity of you... which stands for clothing but might also be choosing... a new ranch or resort another reason for staying out late... a brilliant cage ornithology
and memory... looks like a grouse or a trio of bakers... stumped by the locust leaking my last act... onto the hard branch Wednesday, April 14, 2004 the truck hit the hard worker the finger bent toward the light the rude girl stood next to the entrance the next time got ready to learn the sentence found us yawning the moon served an excellent dessert the phrase rushed away from an elegance... hollower
and a good thing... two days... and then an urgent combination... takes us bleakly forward... but all the while we're slinging song toward trees and billboards... and the sun or is it an engine blows us warm... take this version... for the papers Tuesday, April 13, 2004 after i broke my murder into quiet
parts i isolated the hot core and let it boil our lake into a viscous shadow... i put it here and there like grape jelly... my murder surrendered all my embarassment... and i've finally got the feather pen right... needed some help with the blotting paper what style
became when i put it out i don't know how many years ago still it became a secret knife and bled me dry it became a hidden horse eating all my hay... hey! you can't write that it's already been done... o yeah... watch me cut this cardboard scene was it announced this morning's death currently studying french for a moment was it announced a stretch of sisters desperate patches of cheese in drag was it announced new galleries glowing very fine fruit lately mown or old mail was it announced and denounced often no longer possible for old legs thickness was it announced or crippled mightily as we returned from the night pier budge was this was it and whether it was in time was it where it meant this and only any game
limits the eccentric... i'm pouring my feelings out that's why yr so damp... here's the answer and the blue ribbon... here's my urgent question... when you pass all tests there's still one more... it makes us feel sort of spongy and quiet Monday, April 12, 2004 three points... one at the cupcakes one at the email... one just now at the history of a moment... then a pelican in rough circles on the water... what else goes around the morning just the mixer... not a mix master but a kitchen aid ... at the cupcakes... and a dog resembling roundness in the sun or the thought of a cat still as a moment in a book... permanently retrievable imaginary shape... another night or a rising you know every place i look... these are yours for as long as you want... or a little less... as a certain piece for warmth... the marks always here but... not... understood... cool and sufficient for sitting still Sunday, April 11, 2004 you'd insist... on a plan i'd prefer no plan... a shakey irrelevance in light or fluidity bearing down on us... you mean too much as it is... i'll mean the antidote the scrim of goodly noise but under-read... as diving to dinner we're accidentally hatched... hungry Saturday, April 10, 2004 not suddenly empty... but here's
the polestar longing for everything... thin light in our pupil... a very hard thing in monotony: a concerto for oboes blown sweetly... but empty as you surely have been... step by step through the factory... learning names in wasp and fly if she doesn't
have any, i do... then some head butting... a blow to the chest... slippery down to a dangle... run and keep running from the... heron mask... being itself while i'm thinking she hasn't any... in fact and i have lied back to finish your phrase currently  |