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The sky is only light and brightly now.
One car then another and so many more insist on their own place in motion.
A friendly and aggressive honk. The risk can multiply and divide.
If I walk the sidewalk, I’m an object subject to observation.
A subject among objects is a king and a queen on substantial pavement.
I’m afraid of the oversight and the judgements that come with it.
The sky completes a circle with a guess.
whose moronic compilation of divergent messages says
“funny that it was a misunderstanding all of it”
you thought we were hungry after our books, now pale sand …
with others we’re lost in the day, their ideas about light
sagging into their darker choices like whiskers, but
what is it you love in this flat early gleaming, a bird?
that’s not true
well, that’s not true
it happens while the grass-
cutting proceeds with abandon or
the bright red engines howl and honk
down the tree-limned avenues of Hyde Park
it happens all the time
I met a young cowboy as an old coot,
and this is what she said, sir:
“The monotony, yes, I just commented on this this morning.
It gives one the sense that to organize and cooperate rests
on the same excitations that form stones—and stone forms.”
“Once you stop it all, there might be a great kind theory to hold you up.”
“All the beauty belonging to itself. These are rough days.”
“Finally, the language manages to recuse itself in these matters.
Since, if he doesn’t feel deeply about anything, he will be forgotten.”
“Otherwise, we’re all unapproachable.”
You might guess it’s about a legend.
And can insert yourself on the next line.
taking his or her time to excel in the small things.
Or of force and the forces ascendant
there’s nothing to will or deny.
Everything’s given and taken red
or gray, a gang of perfect thugs
standing in a lake who pretend to humanity.
Listening sky, mind’s made up of enough clouds.
You’ll be taking a little nap at this historic hotel
for complete control, in contrast to the thing about negative ions.
Sometimes a thing just needs to fling itself.
Bodies in motion beside themselves. Say,
what’s a limpid flowing stream next to my impatience?
This is poetry. Is it remarks
against someone’s big announcement
anxious because the cosmos
should be undone again
now that the first
raveling has caught our attention?
Yes. By remarks we touch it back in place.
It’s probably not a door. But I heard something
slamming. Watch your fingers.
This and a few dollars
will find their way to a seat,
a partially obstructed view.
(skeletals lucky as geometry
leaning into a common plane)
(then away) (and sky says)
o never mind don’t worry
one person, a boy—
but why a boy—
in open air
grabbing for the moment,
grabbing, for the moment,
such a crowded planet/ where is everybody?
who is turning into God today/ gentlemen and ladies?
why stand under a lacy parasol/ to comprehend beer?
when the multi-sexed crowd begins to rumble/ where’s the sky?
the only way to find one is to kepe at it
notinvinsible but means to a place not home
woold all suck as brooden broke in sudden
that flames or sumthing else other tookover
as a then missed thing that wuodd fix it all then
later saves us we know what living means here
damn. tricked by a multiple choice. alternatives that included nuclear among the options.
damn. no sun for the longest stretch of days. of thunder’s reassuring something steady.
damn. straight. in the rude jet’s way the structures thrown up for business sakes alive.
damn. the end of never’s really something you ought to get behind. right this very minute.
damn. an unwanted consolidation makes immense the desires we tried to localize. in person.
damn. a moment with fingers can’t grab. and toes illustrate time’s pleasant inherency now.
Who has put love put love in the lane. Whose love’s been put.
There in the lane love. Has love’s eye on the road been lain.
By one who proceeds and proceeds apace. That is by one step.
And shines across the surface of a black plane the distance.
As distance in arguments in farces in plenty of dark suits.
In you and me a whiteness meets in the slack mumbling line.
a new writing style hung upon the adequate
will it fix a breakfast or an election will
will it remember the fresh shirt of the line
no there are no more lines, elections, or styles
there are some hitherto coherent flavors afoot
aimed at a fruitful disintegration as we settle
the way everybody talks when everybody remembers
we settle on freedoms awkward even ugly actual
and plenty cracked in the manner of old signs
a quick turn toward unguided sense for a very shy person
is the true disappearance of form yet it’s enormous fun
to recognize how a faux nothing comes with grapes & bitters
sent to your room. soon dismissed as an unnecessary whiteness
my oppressions tumble trifling as unremarkable beside yours
a squiggly line between true sadness and this here these notions