and says

This is poetry. Is it remarks
        against someone’s big announcement
                that everyone’s
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.


what it means when

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?


and comes w/ xtra parts

the only way to find one is to kepe at it

at it

notinvinsible but means to a place not home

but it

woold all suck as brooden broke in sudden

to it

that flames or sumthing else other tookover

as it

as a then missed thing that wuodd fix it all then

but it

later saves us we know what living means here

at it


taken in the clerical sense

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.


no less a personage

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.


where you want it to be

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


not a machine or world

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


untwisted tale of something likely true

that I’s too small for the making. of any thing. I lacks the scope. I lacks the organs. the tools. ever a photograph.

takes itself away from its place. lost context collides with. what I wants. if not everything. the indefinite enough. in place of nothing.

and having. to be saying. is having. I hears it. going on. high and low. life. its loved and unloved parts. all one.


as necessary

a detachment stands for “hey” say this comes to you do you say

complicate it in service of a vague dread or unhappiness or to

the end the recording calms you down as practical steady wind

settles the day. your plan for the day has become much simpler

you will intercede for the sky who only wants its fair share

of the anthropomorphic frisson nearly the whole world gets at

once the poem has been published out from the imperfect box

or self polished by say this sudden spin toward quicker sense

then you can probably say it just like a normal person would


settle down

you can talk about your heart and vague things so vague the photos will be out of focus

or while you talk about them in fact you stop talking as talking is known mid-sentence

there are these sounds airs they taught you and will take the place of actual things

but, mister, the particulars acting up around salaries pensions insomnias they go on

they get you to love your folks more fully in the daylight before the governed choose

who to convert to fuel for smart security requires an excellent and caring commodity

your heart at last prepared for shipping placid under sheets of gauze or dry gelatin

and there you found it where nobody talks about or needs an explanation a proposition


regrets

Like a thick bird gone up so high not caring how far or how solid the ground. Piece of cake.

Then upended. Tendencies. He had. Them tromped.

I’m following a famous pianist through his tunnels toward an uncertain conclusion. She knows.

The woman is an unfortunate metaphor. For an uncertain conclusion.

One work then another and so on forms a pattern in time and points in space. The work fits there.

No escape from telling, but no fresh news gets past the wall. Old man.

The way (is not worth) (is worth) the weariness. Harsh call.