Friday, July 29, 2005
i'm the matter with coming back from the edge of a given name.

nominal arithmetic welcomes us back to pleasure.

later joined by calculus decades past the men we knew.

so this cut finds what the pluckers and shifters rejected.

news of our zeros lining a road. arguing and exploding.

hasn't this the sum become the fiction we ordered.

finally unpaginated as the surface gulps for breath.

we go taking short stories for horses and precise measures.

reading hysterically as wee things for next and next.



x as i am the boor the ferret at the foggy window.

x in spite the glorious tootsie flaming out speechless.

x hardly i'm petty inoffensive as an old grudge.

x in the backlit shot with angels like trees.

here's x the tallest pole the uppermost in me.

x made a border circling me hawks and swallows.

x on the slide x in the pretty gallery dry to touch.



Thursday, July 28, 2005
for if i read it might stick to me mixed in my good form.

for if i blacken it might injure me fashioned in gloom.

for if i wasted it might justly explain me crumbling and tilted.

for if i solved it might never go away.

for if i melt it might have me and have me for good.



this type butterfly. reckless in courtesy.

bloated as gentle. this kind fountain.



to take it then. as if. why anyone can put it

clearly. even i can put it. there. but to sing's

the old carpet. a room of rivers and reviews.



Wednesday, July 27, 2005
art's champion of the cornered road. harsh tree of jackets.

resistance is all seeking. i say in the backyard where you

get ideas and the ants bite you formally. symptoms. i'll go

for the bandits and brigands. for you. certain slinger of

hard notions forget the guitar make me out of guesses your

barking boy. say i'm standing in sunlight without an aching

arm. already we said we knew how prompted and emotional we'd

been. this excuses our accident. removes us as critical of

the whole show. we favor shadows and waves as fingers. can

fingers go all swinging slippering. forget about god who's

turning the world into scents. i wonder why the cat rolls

over. this enough understands light well enough can manage

the stairs and find dinner a can opener. but what are these

books to any of us. aimed as we are toward the door. love's

gorgeous numbers. poetic champions and all. reading hot

tires over all the flowers i was middle modern enough. felt

as a scourge. alliterative and devout. a guide for healthy

living
. but a blackish rises full of blue in its own time.

then i'm head of a group. bopping twilight into terror we go.

whatever language you speak you're endlessly included to say.

art's champion of the cornered road. harsh tree of jackets.

i'm being unhelpful here because i don't have to be helpful.

not even to the homicidal toads i get. a daily architecture's

enough for pretending to be smart. we get to mention divine

indwelling. we think it might be so. well built and hope it.

verging on. you say. collapse less consistent than big bands

paris in the tropics. for coffee's nuisance effect we'd search

just so far but would stop before the elizabethan hat blew.

we turn out and into just about everything. imagine it great

fingers on the white keys. took all day to choose one sharp

adult moment. not actually worth your time to share. kind of

shy profoundly embarassed to have said. so far. we thought

the world of you right up until then. champion in small things

entitled to count simply in those small things as a wonder.

don't we find rest here. as mystic lies down there's a bookish

tint to sunset. you can almost taste it can't you almost



Tuesday, July 26, 2005
sometimes i forget the good bits. how they get.



i'd go for days without the world. horses never knew any

that could type so loud. i'd go hear it. the banjo gets rich

and the next stretch of days i'd be funny. teaching real

spots on the mirror. came out baffled you say i'd go for

days looking older. loster. a copy of the animals i ate. or

will not remember colors. to make a big face in your face.



Monday, July 25, 2005
mere surface for diving sounds

more surface for diving. we get

no trombones but plenty of red

piano. an excellent youth spent

it all for me. so here as an ache

the stairs are long yammers to

never say watch one with hints

melodical as new drugs we get

but never so deep for ideation

to hum a few bars is good gas.



the project vague as the members. walk for the wall.

it's black for anything. humor us in capes. in iambics

pentameters. look out. the yurt is huffling in the silky

gloom. the members haven't had a good first hark in

a month of genders. way off there it comes. use this

normal appelation. indistinct. as risk-worn possibly



yr for angiopathy. i strum it

like a winsome goose. yr for

the blastosphere. i get you

but hold back. thinking

words say which thunder

comes for sun. yr a good one

for hauling us churchwise.

kick yr worship. clicks home.

locks the window. yr there.



Sunday, July 24, 2005
it makes it sound like an i

is a fashion i got it on sale

i look like twenty-six all in

a rumble. i bleeding from a

portfolio. it makes it suffer

like an i found roadside an

ick on its backside i go on.



remind me where farmers went

into language for a moment. i'm

all twisted. rattled and sang an

acre a gulp. here i go swung as

delivery stages our next furrow

reminding me where the farmer

stood at the edge of a bookish

stream. i surrender at last every

other version of joy. just turn it

over. where the farmers go out.



Saturday, July 23, 2005
lacking some fluid. spring

popping out in the life. go

inerrant. go meta-camping.

just go. springing a blum

tart. cratered for spring.

all collisional and forty so.



which parts have been overlooked.

there in the day we get. i was hoping

for some elegant expression but.

the insides evaporated. there. i was

an optometrist again. standing

in between the edge. as one who's

impossible and scuttled as old

growth. i forgot someone was looking.

my target was true but my aim

nicked the sky which means i missed.



get my legislature all a rest. i'm nice

as a common man. what i believe is

what itches or pricks. & stings me on

the bunches. the rest is a sleep. will

you dream for me. 1. 2. 3. clapping

boyly into something clearly. seen.



back to finish your phrase currently

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