Friday, September 16, 2005
Well, I Wasn't Going Anywhere Tonight Anyway

wunderkind of petty complaisancies. cracked in

the illinois. coarse in the lightning stump. rubs

for whops. a whole stool of bastinado. calling

like i was a. loon. afloat. or a wreck. a wreck.

cornered in a whirlygig outhouse. country boy.

who's got the crotchet now. who's the purple

layabout. or any ole wreck of inamorato. rusted.



Disabled for the Moment by an Unexpected Succulence,
I Scratch the Back of My Head


make fun of me. a rack of ribs.

make me like. the village ape.

somatic. a remedy. syndicated.

i'm trying to think. of a word

all the children say. chastise-

ment. i'll be the arrow to copy.

in flight. to a pure black point.



Thursday, September 15, 2005
Just After 'o sandrine in minisma,' I Felt
a Pattern Crumble Where the City Used to Be


excellent bakery at the corner of seventh. an angry man

but ignore him. it's the tooth of justice in sourdough.

i'm looking again at the art. it made me cry once. so.

all broken up now. but any pear can't be ugly. can't.

take three. rosey as a kid who's run all the way.

from seventh period grammar. where he learned to sway.

indefinitely. as a pronoun thinks itself back into

corners. blushing ripe golden notions toward song.



Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Where Were You When I Tappped the Bottom of the Bowl
with My Japanese Spoon?


the pressure of wit drives cabs in this town

to distraction. just as leaning into any night

they frolic like loose packages on every turn.

we arrive where matters turn ugly for a minute.

something i forgot to say. know it. hacked-

up inventions. reports to the main office. a lie.

mishandling the chancey-bird so badly seems

inexcusable to those who have never had one.

it was a special kind of milk. an interruption.

then. no more breath in the first year. just a



Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Walking Happily toward the Regard of Others, I Drop
and Crack This Most Pleasant Mirror


without permission. but permanently at hazard.

i get the march down and. lose the tuba. drum

the bitter bits. into an octangular delight.

next comes typing and inserting. the public's dim

long fingers in the salad. troubles my dreaming.

with red knuckles comes an urgent note. tell

it plain for regular people to understand or

you'll be sorry.
and i was. very sorry in fact.



Monday, September 12, 2005
After Re-Binding an Old Copy of Lyrical Ballads, I Find Myself
Thinking of Winter in the Dolomites


why shouldn't one sentence roll out like a gaudy tongue.

even i expect some sound. and sense. but resent it. as if

i knew the best crystal is broken crystal. o burgundy eyes.

dun-lipped as an orchid. a steely system of suspensions.

this useless raspy coughing. in parts. with browny edges.

i'd need to know your exact age. scaling to flames these

mortifications. scrawny embarassments of breath i give.



I Tell You It's a Sestina, and You
Move Off with a Lump of Chocolate in Your Mouth


hero reaches bleak ends this chocolate

chocolate hero this reaches ends bleak

bleak chocolate ends hero reaches this

this bleak reaches chocolate hero ends

ends this hero bleak chocolate ...

attitude is everything. you make me nice.

i was a swiller of fictive grappa until you came.

then i stood for your restless provolone.

then i marched into calabria. with you. just you

oh my sweet epiglotis. my subtle epigrapher.



Happening on a Section of Bleating Blue Stars, I Think
It's Time to Revise My Precious Vows


spenser. Helpe me, ye banefull byrds in

orchestras offering organs whose shrieking sound

Ys signe of dreery death
. i won't come back

to sign the lease. in the motif our singed hair

topples. reasons make me pleur unabashed. asks

for more time and gets it. Thus all the night

in plaints
in orange gropes an insect hisses.



Sunday, September 11, 2005
Overblown by a Host of Imperial Contradictions, I Reminisce
about a Simpler Time in a Safer Place



all the blank spots collected in one heap. as

articulate and conventional. one hill of them

without butterflies. or dogs. or kites. but say

an arrangement of happinesses down the other

side away from town. here we mope and jingle

our fine nuisance away. cramped by a question.



Saturday, September 10, 2005
Just Feeling Humane and Earnest, I Write a Poem
for Them All in Time for the Moon and Bed


getting it delivered and pouting. both will turn me

bluish-gray. but an heroic account of tempers flaps

across the grid-way or the bridge of say cornflakes

for everyone and is tasty satisfaction. for parents

make way right up to the line for children make way

along these shimmery edges. where i grin photo-like

in a well-organized cell toward the sun. only a law

one step away from knowing the extent can save this

impending calamity. let it arrive let it come where

it huffs and complains. we need it anyway. in glass

trousers or pudgy as twelve noon. it comes in peace

for their gustatory engines. clearly here as one as

ice on the wings. the descent was tragic and wiggly



Standing on The Edge in All Likelihood, I Hear a Dog
and Doubt You Are Ill-Disposed


aspartame. there's no end to the dust. crucify us.

this is the end of contemporary. nearly modern again.

for reading isn't the story you wanted. we were poor

as the sublime. of singly small doses there. here's

junior's next index. of whispery brooks. me in a popular

lego-motel next to cardinal stritch. his new eyes popping

for the troops. sleeping over under the massing stars.

there's nothing we couldn't say into these epiphanies.

closely instructed in the present manner. balls infernos

plates venetians courses debts. as in a long way from

the beginning. where we're finally digested. all educated.

take heart, sweet one. i'm the market of years. the fud.

and the milk dud of your delights. and romantic as syntax.



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