Friday, April 23, 2004
free buckets of... free tensions... freely humble...

here we are again solving... and knowing ourselves

solving the difficult... freely... improving ourselves

beyond the last question... it was yawning anyway

right in our free buckets of... and tense with wanting


harking and nursing... here i come... a timbered range

in brown shoes... ganglia sorting mornings like... pins...

here we are... blown certainties.. wrappers and cans...

a heroic venison delighted... near the day's outer edge


coming soon... this excellent cucumber... drab insomnias...

coming in silver buttons in mourning cheers... this above-

average legume... from the night callers the stone shell...

action-ready... nooning rage... in reasonable jungles...


Wednesday, April 21, 2004
tied eight eight in the seventh and... then...

the day like a dog nuzzles us open... here's

a new catalogue... high octane... and accountable

as a circus geek... just follow this line a ways...

tripped and tattered... green from the bog... gutsy


Tuesday, April 20, 2004
or now the raga is not... manic... even now...

one cat's eye never blinks... or happiness gets

a real connection then goes... off-center...

mine takes the strings... for horses crazy in light


Monday, April 19, 2004
o... is it a whippet...

or was it a cloud...

how does it suffer...

who could it know

patched up and growing

a burden of eggs...

just for the evening

a burgeon of sun


mining hasn't been the same since... hunting hasn't been

the same... since this message came to you... in bed...

three thirty-two... a. m. with the wind... blowing grit

cool enough... but too early for a shovel or a gun...

mine have been shining in the basement... mine

have been arriving all along...


Sunday, April 18, 2004
english novelist... author of black chains on their feet...

smoking in my bathroom again... listing my peccadilloes

like spilled rice brown on the countertop... junior takes a leak...

and we all remember the day the nobel slipped past... a sigh...

out in the yard a crow and a robin... figure the odds...

even money... but it's still all just literature, ain't it?


big fat doubts... and a day to do it in... drastic monotony

in the freshest underwear... imaginable... you've got it now...

undulating like a side show mama... a subtle come on...

we're finally free for the shapeless game... we're all It


Saturday, April 17, 2004
who the serious poets spotted... and conjugated...

doesn't have the chat to back it up... a flat nervy kid


why so suddenly trying... to welcome these pronouns... back...

our random yardsale... missed me... missed you... all of us here


match mine... i'd ply you with cellophane... orange peels...

anything you need... just match mine like a seasonal itch...

i'm incredibly handsome in the right light... match my time

or bolts of short willow wood... match my faded posters


whatever i made whenever i made it... yr contradictions

started me... hypothetical hydraulics... or the masked

wind... pieced me a chandelier a copper tower... pulleys

like signs... told how the dolphins passed from me to you


o baby... i been waiting on you... in my ordinary

slink... in my overstated blinky suit... all lit up for you

in my ordinary complication mask... neck twisted back

for the dull swans... o baby... i been waiting on you


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