Friday, August 26, 2005
is this competent work. a courier falling down.

a cancelled check. desirably gnawed ephemera.

competent as dust is. stable in parchment. an

active scarcity seeking one out to be moot. raw



if i had to steal a word from your construction

i'd make it someone. not that i couldn't

have used it myself and not called it stealing.

not that. but called it dropping to the surface

of some normal terrain. collecting specimens of

daily sorting. wrenching my sticky thin arms a

grip around one or the other flatness. taking it

wholly away. past all brash figurines. a thought.



Thursday, August 25, 2005
potted potted plant potted calamity.

reckon how the numbers fall. singly

measured guessing us. supposing

a viscious augury. potted as plants

we unruffle evening. we go holler

morning come potted clay potted in

a row. i get my enthusiasm from a

whispery. into broken pottery. and



these fictions itch in summer. you look like a persistent

stereoptype and everyone stares. itching in fictions of

summer. you forgot to pack the drum but no one cares

enough not to dance summer's salvation fiction's itches.



Wednesday, August 24, 2005
i didn't. it was talent broke in. took

yr golden mess all to pieces. claimed

you got a bum deal. flat talk in the flat

while the downstairs idiots reinvent the

homeric accordion. it was talent got all

spondaic when you needed one. talent.



really wasn't i in a tangle. the whole room quiet

as a piano. the beguine. a marked man complete

in a butcher's apron. there. it starts and we move

to it. you know like. the trumpet was just for us.



he want a lost poet. and whole sentence

want a government. of pieces and parts.

he in the forest of limber miracles. so said

the youth. the youth in kilts of anger. he

prancing over meadow mist to the town

home. a bit irregular. he want the sparks

to leave it alone. smoother. quicker. soft.



Tuesday, August 23, 2005
an impertinent shape. i go reeling

to notice. what we're doing is we're

a poem about time and in time. there

a splotch of something black. you know

yr never going to make it as a.

poet.
who'd care. yr divergent

in the usual ways. a feather while the

broke-neck bird gets tiny red ants

all het up in ecstacy unbalanced as a gift.



Monday, August 22, 2005
masted as bad art in a gale. there you have it.

we're on the trikes. a sullen arrangement. sifting

feathers. buttons. they go together. sonorous

pockets. aloof at last & at yr disposal ma'am.

i was a trick i played and everybody laughed

even the emperor was. a smirk. the right breeze.



which real. the real. there.

make me a face in it. in a

well of it. not that thing a

better one. says i'm not a

painter. go study to make

objects wriggle. as to sip

a long wooden spoon we

need better faces to say

we require an articulate a

bushy one. the real there.

as soup in shape. and ready.



Sunday, August 21, 2005
suffering in the close shadows one picks up

an approximate plan for saying chaos loudly

into the faulty microphone or distinctly. a

terrific sphere. a seraphic tremor. imposed

on the neighborhood. beats just making this



how hard he hit. like a peg in a sure spot.

and he hit right as he got it all wrong. he

kept quiet and hitting an open spot hard he

left for a minute and hit for blood then he

found his spot and he got it right where he

knew it was finally right where it wants to

go over close enough and. then how it hit a

row of them all. to his peg in a sure spot.



Saturday, August 20, 2005
also farther. in such. which is quiet enough

telling. for stillness. also as in smallness

that's farther on in without saying. here at

an edge i'm too round. at once concentric of

bigness and noise. a turf of such. a pinched

past it all. common sound for sun down kooks

for the farthest getting farther. disturbing



as we go on something like this is certain. as going

shortly from understarched minimal engines of breath

to his funny exhortations around the sacred bubbler.

bound to excite us to a wonder. a wonder and a pop.

then it's back to all usual detours. we go for mud.



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