Friday, August 05, 2005
are these not what. not how for now.
they will become or they won't. it's a
walk around. plainly put farther. more
a license to suit that new one. were
these what the name keeps. except
the day in the district. these fallen in
pairs. these regular disappointments.
a studio with a lease and a synopsis.
quenched for example by a doorbell.
hard to think of an answer when the
nurse asks what it was. you danced
like a whole world for awhile. ask me
another green sweetness. i'll have
more answers than facts. turned by
evening into a tequila worm weren't
you. there. when just one bell might
have cast you out to a better hand.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
hard to tell one's greatest black & white
story. converging on the narrow bound of
her listening then turning. the kites you
see were lighting up that morning he had
promised and failed. so typically obscure
in the lamplight. hard to tell the rumors
like udders. or fresh picked corn. gone so
near the pastoral there's no turning back.
unless you want turning back. she is always
listening and marking yes no. even with her
eyes or the tilt of her head. toward light.
or while he turns himself inside out for an
active love life. love life you see. the key
for turning any story into any idea you get.
still difficult to say what happens that so
easy morning with transport shutting down &
masses huddling outside his door for a light
nudge to work. it ends as an early case of
plotting without cunning or any unkind notion.
one writes the story to the inevitable point.
bug on me.
there's a bug on me without
a bite of me.
or i knew it and i knew it
the bug on me goes
about liking me
goes for happiness.
not song enough to breathe. not shimmer to grovel.
not blank enough for light's good trance. not hook.
not muddled adventure. not book enough to serve.
not in your long stretch. not for parting mystic.
out of iron for the doing for now. as cotton will do you. think
i'm the target in a world. where nobody's shooting thoughtful
but pouting over the edges. still i get to bleed from the finger-
strings making. mistakes for free. they land in my right foot's.
my number six and seven best fantasies. one for talking over
you about their sudden assaults. the rapid irruption of seems
to be. just making words go just making them go on unlikely as
takes us away from this central concern. as if abe's
got a crease where he seems to be evil. bought it
for ages. still bought. and still smells like museum
pig. we whittled for wishing into a tiny true censor.
he got our half-comical rhubarb furiously booked up.
he blind the stout the strange the straggling waif.
he tease a red length out like a tongue to fleece.
as we were saying. trembling out a natural history.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
finder in ashes. in horizons gone white.
a design runs through warlike figurines.
they had blue fingers and godlike grime.
dance the way the center goes. of fire.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
so the only describes an absorption. my factor
trembling in what they call a huge universe. in
arabia these nettles are priceless. so the only
takes one and then another. i've got small ones
in finicky lace talking about something out in
the actual world. where games go on factual as
sweat then bring some light in here for dreaming.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
that to have fallen
makes me precious
and aloof as an open window
i was being serious
broke in broke wind broke
made of spun sugar
of domestic ectoplasm
calling all god to come
tell the talk
show it wholly
Saturday, July 30, 2005
time to reason what happened to my godlike hands
when the powers receded when arcs of light came
blistering in. i was sitting in the oranges when you
meant me back to my scalawag chambers and took
me as romeo back to the book. my fugitive mythos
cornered for once all over in dull cotton. here dims
as you going away dims the day's apology. no me.
no you. no fire in the toothy sky. no book. no fruit.
back to finish your phrase currently