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Friday, March 25, 2005 my channel flipping gets to watching
horses. look they make waves in dots. and bark too much. those people had two and never speak in prepositional phrases. under cover of illness without horses. without three years of the same wet purchases. burials in guitars. or with broken
bones. in my chinese clothes. will the dog run. will it go for cheese. i'm the professor of gigantic dinners. we'll have books on big snakes. a stormy island. quips. and we'll have heraldic hermeneutical forces lined up for the portrait. we making just now. Thursday, March 24, 2005 i'm gonna go home and i'm gonna
get a yearbook. reminder: the last announcement will come just before the last poem. it will sound like golden or that cheap golden trim we sometimes find on the uniforms of poor marching bands or boxes under trees. the last announcement will not catch the breeze. but the news services will pick it out and lift it up. and we'll be happy to find it in the smiling faces of the beautiful old. Wednesday, March 23, 2005 to presume to become one of the
natives. no residency. no parking permit. never lost as an original novel. mirrored by the coastal waters along the gallapagos. islands. to assume a blue disaster computing a fever. one that delivers answers like landscapes. i like human nature. which animal
you get to be. waning in nature. i'll furnish it. small dry food. large wet food. us in parentheses as two fallen moderns. dusted monthly. in a roaring obscurity in shade. much as the collared peccary nudges a prickly pear. out of rock shine. here we supply red notions. marking the treacheries of contentment. red. we've got
seventeen minutes for staking out purposes. as in palestrina's last oratorio where the woods sweep in like faith. birds like a new doctrine promulgated instantly on the branch. who is thinking this. who goes without lunch to comfort past particles. we've got all this time and nowhere to go. Tuesday, March 22, 2005 arms attached
to a tricycle. legs far deeper into hellas. a book in the brain. a boot in sense. our followers will screech like pale monkeys at the sight of our new trousers. we paid them to believe. and set them out on wheels to preach. Monday, March 21, 2005 what the bodies say when we lay
them out isn't always the point. but our hands as we shift them closer or back a bit. these might catch the light for a lonely meaningful way. shooting
one's self in the. foot. a malodorous ordinary. me in the front room counting money. you in the back airing out the pomeranian. as the most original Roman Catholic writer of his time. all the capitals said so. we might deny it. still here. shooting one self in the foot serves notice of moving to another. as we all say. venue. be running
bach. no pun. he fingers go over here over there. then like a dog go round back for something. try a looser cartoon. say the group meditation comes to your house and you never lost faith but once. the last time. all eyewitnesses ground into dancing beetles. flinging them selves out. on to other sharp stars. Sunday, March 20, 2005 no reason to talk about the thirsty
way we get in books. into a thin and sophisticated healing. i'm tired of it as a goon might weary of any night's work. inspiration flying up with calligraphic abandon. i put my mirrors out for now. your coming in causes a troubling philosophy. it's night. and thinking drips black for a while. then makes a cult. our most
royal incomprehensible. as when for president we measure the distance from key to lock. as here we're looking forward to the next assembly and its rowdy parents all drunk and half-sensible. i sure am and hope you are too. more for the papers which want to know us. and show us at work with tiny eyes. we're famous now for good. crowned for crows. adept. for winks
like an octopus and freely. containing what we said while we said it. as i understand you now to be. an overreaching. a grasper's handling. books like overripe fruit. for eyes. and flames. would you like one. i'm giving it away. these are your days. in the catalogue of windows. papered over and yellow to the touch. take them. as if this. were a deeply felt plan. Saturday, March 19, 2005 which life symphony with all it's
edges tucked in comes to us as a persuasion. justified in long ends reaching to melancholy classical transparency. like us. waiting behind the wilt. large windows. girls. reinventing them sweetly. boys on a forced march. in the strings and percussions we're surprised in quarters and halves. no cohesion for now. post all this as we are. life's untuned it. as us. 2. for boxes.
in a poem. these articles. an elegance. the thistles. a photograph of us. the train. those times. this understanding. 3. of boxes. one argument after another or taking hold and not letting go. in our work. were in pieces and generously scattered. 4. among boxes. trusted them to stand up. and freely. actual scenes of us as in trouble. usually for days. usually leaning. as outward. across the
body. grains in mine. as of ideas. affecting an openness. touched by philosophy. reasons the book. you and i. refusals come wooden. couldn't for hurting. back to finish your phrase currently 
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