Friday, February 25, 2005
and a ghost for the river. still over. this.

let it be about rooms for crying or making food.

let it be about justice coming like a mad dog.

you have a complete version or one part. no

paper wasted. no ridiculous announcements.

but the horizon whirling makes enough.

take this seriously. its a looker and a far song.


word it so the glop drops off.

maybe a tree here. an ant

or a flower. leave the birds

out. word it pretty true. for

physical drama. i'm stuck in

the past. gone nothing but nice.

so. today green tie. white shirt.


hushed the edges. better than thy stroke. the center

gets me itchy for explanations and good mexican food.

stepped through. that is passing the gaze. they give

me a chance to say without saying. a credo for pixel

wonder. it is nothing and you turned it into nothing so

this is what happened when you went out to the book.


Thursday, February 24, 2005
i meant a delivery from all such. so i surrounded

a theory with business. took it walking in firey

time. as spiritual a thing you might think. but

doused in paper and television. talked out into

slick time. fed on virtue's flower. a boring kid

linking the done with the temple's dour dream. a

wire mesh future startling all his presents into

chicken kebobs. and call this a mystic path. if i


thinking about spiritual things and then.

an approximately condensed original.

here comes mitch ryder.

look it's not as if they're people.

really good technology never gets going.

when you say we there's really no we. and you

ending with an h is cool enough.


if i weren't william butler yeats i'd be in a heap of trouble.


what works in a circus goes for changes or

staying put. any way. have you seen it?

something in fire that noses us to dance.


Wednesday, February 23, 2005
that was grammar with resurrections. more dangerous

at morning when we're heroic. gentle at any rate or an

explanation in trousers. grammar swallowed anything

we threw and wrecked everything. biographical and

deaf for decades. the box is on the counter next to

thirty frozen onlys.
subjected and preposed to death.

white swung and stung somehow in later guitar depth.


they left the museum in the car

the photographers packed today.

in the mall on the dirty street along

the baseball across this basketball.

quickly we said suddenly for a change

hardly it meant sweetly we knew in fact.



hugo put his bricks around. night. the human

catalyst.
put his beginnings far from bringing.

balls rolled to all their potential. africa is one.

for example. walls and rebirths frighten him. as

ugly in the same direction as belief. he sings of

worn. of using everything for unconvincing ends.

our ears typed far as drumming. then influence


Tuesday, February 22, 2005
we used a language they wouldn't understand. hell

we didn't quite get it ourselves. but it pushed a light

we meant. we meant the light. it bothered us for sad

change. whatever we had. the language cornered for

a note. the tune they said. was birdlike in its bones.

i dare you to hang for it here. coming from where


if dew was just shadow. where i put my good copy.

where the beard follows. where you wondered where

this had gone. i'm not a farmer on the itemized terrain.

but you note my verbals my tooled grooves. as one

might drop one into the suffering. if kids were a class

not bound but jumping. sneezing beans for bless you.


o

national bargains. information. happy natives.

o

big brown envelope gaining ground. ticking.

o

it's an urgency. and i'm an uncle in it.

o

next comes the fleece. the police oh kay.

o

jack review. in the back flap. jacket

o

what guitar. an insurgency. puffed. and nice.


Monday, February 21, 2005
my mediocrity. is mine but welling up from a

vast underground ocean. where it's all opera.

where the lights hiccup lightly against the deep

shores of. almost. just about. where fish follow

the breath of these delicate gentleman.
where i'm

swimming little by little. pile by pile up. to say.


what's french for getting your singing done in french.

a line of skinny people. there just now. no fat french

singers. but willows. pencils. what they had for lunch

demands some dashing about. in rouen. fear of lunch

turns into poetry as shameless. yr an island of french

as two words on the plate wonder aloud in sad french.


Sunday, February 20, 2005
my midwest of foupaws and dry roses. took all

afternoon to reassemble the. thing. and we're

good enough to go. still. sometimes i wonder i

might never get back. like the storeglass wind

in my eyes i'm always missing my own manners

to hurry back from work and find them on the

lawn with a beer and some lame similes. grins

and sweat like nobody's business. not like the

time we left the tourniquet on too long and i


sturgeon stuck. throat merging with. furnaces.

yes furnaces full circle. in which such as the

essential swims. the fire smoke stroke. i'm an

edge on the left where the cats wait. in order.

to tell the needles down to bellies. for dogs.


no promising going on. no bursts of deviant hopefulness.

no juice in the fridge. dry merchants. dry hands, dry as

you know it's not going on. under conditions imaginary.

saying things like there are seven stanzas of four lines.

no real writing. no earth shaking. but. a literary thing.


Saturday, February 19, 2005
ever been slung back to the page. a cat said

by shadows. a town by the season. ideas in

loafers and cads. for no reason back to pages.

how could this be a thought. at the wordstop's

fine leather. from good cows. tasty dinner bits.

we can't help it. there's no coming but going.


it was language put me. alongside the place

we meant as in meeting two sets of eyes go

quiet for saying. it was language in place of

borders. settling for the sod hut the chickens

talking to the dirt. language unsettled a row

of wingless pleasures. for us and to blink us

particles of things that live. timing breath in

language. a wild man needs a moment. wild as.


technically not a hack but facing there comes

another impious revelation without pay you

understand. i'm a succulent advertisement.

was there something you needed to say. i

couldn't hear in the scene the footlights are

screaming. for all this common property to be


it's good i was so little smart. thrown out.

for drowner's got a right. a good tough line.

fact is theater comes with tickets. it's me in

a yodel and you have to. operate before noon.

so let's expect how good it's so. not bright

right now. just kind of slow like the swings.

of perpetual suns crickets frowns for folding


back to finish your phrase currently

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?