select and refuse

tarp: tar me off a piece of that whiskery hummock

piece: a preferential option for apple over punkin

over: asserting the truth of an accidental reign

reign: one more time before the settlers roll off

before: taken at foot value, slick as a heavy tarp

poem that starts with

no, it goes beep beep

so the serpent

chooses to be brilliant

move a bit to the left

I see you got it

in the mail today

our resignation

from the fun the fear

it helps to be a little

tipped bent elongated

servant of the simple

in the eye the summer

the lies medicate

lubricate the day

feels as likely to be

one of the scurriers or one of the sick on mats

and both

rushing to beg mercy of the odd one lost on his own


as it feels to be in the world with or without shoes


rattling down chutes to heartbroken buckets or queries

of how

anyone might climb up from the miserable questionable id

for what

a little french accordion said after some rainy fun-time

there’s no

food in this part of town take the children to the interior

where so

many items await our vast and disproportionate consumption

about and from these

even here there is something to learn about the scale of anyone’s intentions.

or about the breath it takes to say say this or that from the heart’s pulse.

or in the brain the mind’s lines of fire at the edge of smoldering documents.

as in how one may not try very hard but the lucky even happy hurts converge.

opposite this

minding his own business then bleached up

triggered by the sun to fire at the moon

o say it like this if you’re of an age o

pulse of snail thump of new politicals o

a smaller part of reality’s an abundance

before the injunction

Re: the reality is in touch with itself with what is not itself.

A muzzled bear. Extraordinary. Hey. Take it for a social animal.

I’m a social animal. Meat & Language. Will tell lies to anyone.

Incoherence not in the barren maple the gray the sleeping field.

Flags come in many colors. My heart’s in the highlands. A stool.

Raised a fool. Where did my country go once the. So quiet here.

Everyone so quiet here trying to understand what rises up from a.

Singly vague. Gently disappointed. People don’t get to be free.

Fallen through the nets that used to swing us. Slovenly all day.

Something died. Something died. Something died. Something died.

And the lake’s in a rush to get over there. Over there there’s a.

or run away

You’ll see. I can write as celarly  as the next person writing.

My figeres may not always hit in sync with brain’s fring,

but that’s waht DELETEs are for. No, it’s the other brain’s issue.

Suppose it has nothing to say, but that’s the normal storm. It hears that

what it may say will offend someone, as in what it says will expose a weak

and foolish person, a fallen peron  who sometimes … well … isn’t

smart wnough, hasn’t considered the deeper nuances and historical

/critical/philosophical boundaries, hasn’t found the irght word,

lacks wisdome. So now this other brain embraces the not-sad play

of syntax and flushed modifiers, battered lexical doorstops, craven pronouns.

It hopes that the reader who seeks joy or interest will find some, but still

it understands that it will fail far more often than it usceeds.

This is okay, a responsibility even, as befits the pigeon of equilibrium.

not a caption



topic under which

the poem starts to unravel

before     no

our violence comes

it comes from our left/their right see

what did any of them have for dinner later

this hitting is American hitting you know

then getting the kids to bed tending a sore arm

then quick sleep without dreams no dreams then




finding in the moment

that it was good enough for Shakespeare that’s enough to turn

not away but into an incoherent bird an inflorescent storybook

of gosh and golly songs along the lines of brooks or fabricated

of stifled yawning awnings the ones above and bellowing bliss.

I objects to itself and subjects me to some sky blue foolishness.

in the arbitrary face of it

To turn away from everything but the twenty-six — or not that

To turn from the norm I’m not what the first not even the latest.

Would I let in objects. Well there are some nouns even concrete.

Nothing to say about the turnstile but in the slow pivot even

Shudder at the empty windy end. Steel. What will clear speech.

Of its lazy gesture of its cough of the night we needed care.

what the hell you are talking about

because the topic is and will remain ambiguous. sky birds

they say are not angels and dirty dogs are not onions yet.

they want to take you past language as to staring at white.

that we relate to each other as. trying to. wondering if.

it may be the cinnamon that puts off the birds. ignorance.

they say about winter has no friends and needs none. easy

as art recycling a blank cartridge. of conversation about.

us talking this way but not if we’d been born a difference.

released from the cloud of not knowing the range or scale.

rates are likely negotiable. you can’t pretend you aren’t.