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Friday, December 02, 2005 was
the real hurtling past was it undressing. when were we going to give our lives away. what didn't matter what was at last alone. what excuse could have ripened a whole continent. why the dogma sniffing around anyone's butt. so
joliet joliet anchors and encores a bunch of money. give me a bunch of money and i'll go far away no justice in jumping roses. so joliet goes as an anchor a stuffed coroner said. beautiful in drawn out settlings our hearsay christmas joke. so far it says. this is what you lost. it was in your backyard. how
saying comes on. what was i thinking what were the reasons or how it guesses to fill spots open or nervously. look. what kind of talking will we get when everybody's watching. electricity. but if the light's changing and we're putting our body there. in between the light and. any notion then. then. saying comes to something as. a gain Thursday, December 01, 2005 no
sooner had i found a way to step away from poetry than it turned me into words again my nicotine caffeine sweet heroin sugar grip and stood me out on skates and stood me up a jointed flame a valve this
is just to say i will not be reading in manhattan or san francisco or anywhere under sun or stars today in my blue jacket and tie or at 3:30 or with coffee. and that's good. quiet and useful. Wednesday, November 30, 2005 as
often something comes wrapped. takes off and becomes a stage for a new kind of wrappage. where the song would rather. be the statue. would rather be. the radio. unwrapped in snow. cute in tiny pieces but incomprehensible as this. they flee from what they might have flown to. it was old love all around the edges. typical of some
go ugly right from the start. just ugly. just. i mean full of them. as hearses in flames full of uglies. some gone so soon we're blinked on blinked off. a terrific commotion of souring desire. we'd set them off. Tuesday, November 29, 2005 i
wished the poem into its puzzle. meant it from the north. thought it looked good in straw. black as hard seeming. far.
a signal of this orbit i'm just one edge. heard me calling from the branch and bolted one crazy person more or less well-begun as the next hot lesson. scrambled as extra. what are you doing with your life. where did you finally put it when the big night sent you to words as to one dry person who understood. Monday, November 28, 2005 my
gauge. o assassinate the chicken's pyjama
suit and stretch me to mars in a business hug. o blank urge to pee from jupiter's vague hum again. i sign for all indiscretions. i pay my touching out to with
less than five minutes talking that twice invisible aren't we learning that every song buries it's sister song that the long way in never takes off or that once in a picture we'll take our own time Sunday, November 27, 2005 to
thin lively pictures under a bright flatness we'll note a better class of inkers bought and restored in arsonlight cautious and politic flat for fairness to understand it's time to buy our time to buy graciously their light represents our chance to purchase one or two scenes about the walls here roughly balanced as catchphrase to tongue limits every mind to say just one thing and just what is thought to be one's own new thought not fully brought but here and here we're quickly just locks to our delight idiot signs go on what
trouble watches days and nights. which one you donate depends on your mice. what buttress might have forgiven its beautiful urges. which took us up for pleasure. which in some countries consists of encircling each theft. what were agreements were such extreme indifferences. Saturday, November 26, 2005 this
is a poem about a woman who loses her temper now and then. she owns neither a dog nor a cat. but the poet suspects she might have some fish. maybe one or two birds. because there's that small smell they have. in this poem the windows begin to frost up. then the woman decides it is dinner time. she cooks for herself because she has no other person. you see. to cook for. this is a poem with one blue flower in the corner. a generally dim room. but catches some light from a source off the left edge of the page. in a white cup. there's the blue flower. this is a poem about a very angry boy. he is doing something foul and thinking he should continue to do it for quite a while. that will show them and as we see. they are in the kitchen. very upset over something in the wallpaper. this is a poem centered on the page because it is a collision-resistant poem. the poet has taken some care. well
he's out there in the language stalking praise. thinking this best sweetheart a beneficial scrape. i was wound up in light and set on the curb. enough space and enough marriage all drawn down. ones are for winterberries as lost compositions go on. if in the looking you mount it. unthreatening
and placid without the pointing we're lost as in an acre of god. unturning as one stick under fog. it was an allusion dummy now get to work. perilously camouflaged a red we get for imperial furnishing before all the paleness and stillness. a few years for study and marching a thin gray hostility. blowing a leg or a skull to mist. we were taught to buy the perfect one. no bruises no chips or flaws just brevities like nurses who come to flames back to finish your phrase currently  |
