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