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.
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.
national bargains. information. happy natives.
big brown envelope gaining ground. ticking.
it's an urgency. and i'm an uncle in it.
next comes the fleece. the police oh kay.
jack review. in the back flap. jacket
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