Friday, May 28, 2004
without a question in yr face... this disease gallops

heroically past all filters... settles into sleep... gives

dreams... uncritical of yr past... unreadable poetry


arms... mine... mine arms are somebody's arms...

stricken and bent in tough wind... arms launched

into the cruel day... o day... song of the long

arms'll find you... all hugged into some safe shelter


if a tragic hole... if a gaping came

i'd have to laugh... turn myself a bolt

grimmer in the mornings... don't make

me laugh... keep them holes... full


Thursday, May 27, 2004
time a skillet hops toward a niceness

yr flown in blue feathers the army's

portentous onlyness heroic studliness

battered us purely into a new theory

of how and when such electrical targets

matter for slaughter in artful emergencies





form said... here

this tin shelter...

this thin corner...

how you smile... so

how i managed

to lose the day...

a form drops

and spells...

water... finds...

the o... for

me


usually too many in raincoats... all these russians

unloading their hearts... giving up the old ladies...

loafing all night on the banks of rachmaninov...

usually reconfigured by morning... but sour in fog


Wednesday, May 26, 2004
which put my hand through a bristled hedge

the self i told you itches... a long red tour...

which varnished my scuttled hull over islands

nimble and sweet... toward the chop-down tree

all the kids go double... which is night for us here


strafed by the painted scene... it's best not

to begin with the subject... loco in the mirror

of its versatile bachanale... fella... party of one

goes on for moments and moments... here


collaborative on the sidewalk... fearsome boogie-woogie

hustled on the inside... with the french accent we hate...

all the prizes smelled like fresh chocolate brownies and

my miracles... racy buskers all... jittered pedestrian cool


flight from it running... away

very much fright flight... running

telling the wind you make... away

in the saying here a way... running


be in that... be to insist

where no pauses... where fire

hones... be of going

a sign... steadily in that

(o butterfly... o book)


Tuesday, May 25, 2004
stepping down for their sha... la la... la... la...

true true... sad noble truth... without the words... best

without the words... petty traitors!... caught!

in yr fine hair... nothing to do but... cut cut cut...

(fade through handclaps... la la la... la la la...)


so mister i'll read yr next book soon

i'll... suspend my poverty and buy it

however many geese may... mister i'm

hardly a vision taking over... i'm in gray

trees... suffer the marsh reeds... owning

this pale pastoral backbeat... reading

a couple pages of... yr... reddish moon...


if i understood it myself... i'd stop doing it...

the project unnerves... prepares one for the

fever or the presumption... they'll take us out

for a gander... our next heimlich may flop

and then... where will we be... i ask you... where


jagged and pleasant... an edge of burnt toast...

take-home pay... three letters... one patella

slighly bruised... what pleased me no end... yr stencil

over my broad raincoat... rough taiga memories... crossed


Monday, May 24, 2004
generous... no fault but tolerably worn...

a voice deflected by an irritation... sung

prettily as all good seasons do... what

might ever bring the frog... the white daisy...

around again... good nature... gripped


your targets confuse me... see... this interest

hyphenates the matter... a you and then a me...

who live above each other... both... in this polluted

apartment made of skin... above each other...

in permanent conversation... in feathers and ice


headings... terrific noise in the works

wealthy dawn, you never boxed... you took

no chances... i'm hanging from yr pity...

a beautiful crowd wants me to jump... so

day goes astonished kind of blank to noon


Sunday, May 23, 2004
many come at you with... longing

a brittle wistfulness... mines of

organic fiber... spider hearts...

olive-brave quandries... just

let them... just let it brighten...


as rivers go humping past any reality you or i may care to know

so the teeth of our participation in this grave injustice

so the odor of our patience over these sorely blinkered dreams

so the tongue of our permission for another bloody broken day


Saturday, May 22, 2004
my practice encouraged

subject predicate object

i ate everything

we never returned that yellow zither

it became a torrid flower

one of us enjoys that thing just after thunder

eider down catches many small eyes

my purpose took heart


merging small then going puddled... proven

and forced to the gutters... look this is easy

to understand... if you put your hat on... i

said... time to print clearly... chop yr own tree


is

it a

word he meant

a

red foot

on the line

any

such native

year of yr

leaf

or dream

loosing yr breath


standing in yr saxophone... shadow martyred to extinction...

the deep ochre species... industrial sheep cropping shadows...

confusion... swing me once toward the drummer... then let go


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