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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