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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. back to finish your phrase currently  |