Friday, November 25, 2005
whole blocks of light called stone

eggwhites returning as windowpanes

whatever combining with anthologie

des grandes boucles
always turns a

pheasant out to cut sky and shoots

farther past crushing trees past a

line of fatal mercy to business to

whole blocks of light called stone



for faster coffins. inamorati rethinking the position of hands.

monumental kisses look to be the next. and utterly silent as

empty stores. of sadness. or unclosing figurative windows.

i will shimmer just when sun sets. then the stories come up.

as reasonable an offer as any provokes us to slow life.



Tuesday, November 22, 2005
sometimes i write one

to free up the other.



as if to stump any outrage. there weren't enough

rising up and falling down in trousers or light jackets.

as if a section of our tempers hadn't been machine-

tooled. then compulsive as the tribe. plotted avenue

of my losing that goes on and out. to the suburbs.

i whistle you and you come. watching me. my hands.



he walks into the play with Awakening.

an Accomplishment seethes at his back.

eros sorts his vacancies into Acts.



Monday, November 21, 2005
2 more

wild birds

watch

we're told

to connect

most

days a book

a rival

2 more

say

too far

but

pushed

to need



Sunday, November 20, 2005
hearted

as an elk or an elm


suspicioned

as upstairs in general


walkers over stages


prodigious bachelors

of myself



Saturday, November 19, 2005
as untitled. for your inconvenience. put it anywhere. here will do.

but struggle with the bulk its present state leads everywhere.

without handles never gets called for a date waiters shy away.

and the good night kiss peremptory official. untitled as the last

of three new oceans. pronoun verses. contaminant gene status.

never fully unpacked boxed in the dark hall. anonymous cat pee.

untitled. cautious around anthropologists. worthy or systematic.



where i'm unpublished finally. as the saying goes

through the camel's eye and comes out needle-

blunt. i'm in the angle. i'm in the lunchroom of a

liberal god-like calling me over to the undone i'm

passing my bright yellow plate to their eyes. oh.

they've mixed my convicts on the cold playground.



took up with a graphic designer whose passion for damp public libraries

exploded the comfortable old parameters. we. stuck in the everglades

of re-gendered public spaces know that wide margins have resumed their

wobbly pas de deux with these recent glossolalia. we. heard you were

bound in some kind of calfskin flourescence and have driven the sans-serif

hordes back to their breathless borders. took up with a financial consultant

whose feathers murdered lunch and later smothered. us. shopping anxiety.



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