p l a i n e r

only late in life

Something happening. Rhetorical forestry.

Moon in the cave of a sea drift log. Not mine.

Its ugly world drove me to buying. Then.

Nothing. So I approached its limited light.

And forgot to sigh its unmanly sighs just

Because the boys expect a timber tone. Just

For gentle's sake. I traveled off-world to

Specify which crow had spoken aptly to

One of us who had come upon the book

Of speaking crows. These trees are not

So numbered now. They are chilly orations.

but be pleased how one of them

As there's no home. Now could give it up.

Could not find a story. Given two. Neither.

Either open your eyes or open your mouth

Close your mouth or close your eyes. Then.

Try to clopen your eyes. Then clopen your

Mouth. And bring out the horses. Who see

Your need and regret. The never-lost parts

Of you in shrubs. Orphans and words. You

Can't find the right ones. To say as a story.

Some birds have more school than squawk.

on any given day there are

My next work will take place in Boca Raton. A city

I've never visited. But there's a tree. There. A palm

Tree stenciled with my name. It's red. Paint a boy

Can buy at any Paint or Hardware Store.  A good

Name with edges so sharp you can filet a Mouse

With.

It.

secretly critical of religion

What you wanted from this far anyway.

Aren't you people too smarter for me?

I believe I'll get a fumbler for my bridge

And cork an hourly other journalistical

In books and sit on toward the worthwhile.

Cabron, I learnt it reaching over poems.

Fuming past a memo and don't slam it

That I take you think I should be other. Than.

This ain't no accomplishment but a meal.

No clothespins but good folks. I am

Not a brave person but a cowardly one.

I am not a brave person but a coward.

one is always never both or either

bunch of kids calling names funny until somebody gets hurt then all hell breaks loose. i'd rather work in a small farm. i mean go be free in your way. count birds. eat birds. make a violation and show it to your pop your mom. call a name and get smacked back somehow. learn how to eat birds backwards. through the holes.

you have unsaved changes

Well I have this idea and now I'm showing you this idea in some way.

Here is a picture of my pretty foot.

Here is a fabric of my useless anxiety.

Here is a dance in an empty book.

The song of my last purchase.

A waxwork of my limited sense of time.

Here is my dog in two dimensions. And so on.

And one cannot help but cry out at the banishment. Banished!

Banished and Vanished! From everywhere, dear.

Can I call you dear? I feel like I've just met God in my blogroll.

Tom Murphy isn't available right now. Will his brother do?

And how do you like this nuevo realismo in the stairwell?

What could anyone want from an ancient Church beyond

This irritable grasping after Life Eternal? Well if that's all

you want take it and then (the line the line the line the line)

Some mingling some chat some gentle helping hand? Well there you have it.

More banished and vanished. Kapow!

Amalgamated Dematerialization LLC at yr service. But carefully.

O so very carefully I held the latch and turned the

Idea over and made a picture for you to finally get

The roughness of this place and the scowling

Down. Some people are upsetting & poetic all the time.

as much fun as turning around

As for being irreconcilable and shrill.

As for rendering a controversy …

Disrepute and Discrepant walk into a bar.

    I will not harm it. But flatten it some.

    Screech. Then screech against.

    Two turns and a knot. Then who loves.

And so it goes on for all. They say

There's a predicate lodged far in the West.

Carried out by his buddy and laid in the mud

He looks thence hence and farther off.

It's a future for shopping and dreaming.

A harshness made of breezes. Denotes therefore

All the unvoiced accordingly.

And the wheezing instrument calls home a day.

(for ms … on a birthday)

standard size

I don't like

Where no voice.
Wears no voice.

There's my voice
Where's. No voice

There.

In city's version
Dank as dawn.

Say the people.
Ain't no people

Where's the voice.
Ain't no voice

I don't remember

as the engine in some contraptions

Still isn't it better to sling a topical zombie

over one's shoulder. Into a waste of words

just begging for it. As a guy with a device

and a deficiency will fail in complications.

Then this undead proliferation of sayings.

Like have a rice gray and be god and all.

Nothing goes to waste here. Where it all

amuses and confuses and reuses our oozes.

How could I be plainer. What could human
 
specifications challenge more automatical

than any one gadget might. I get it and you

get it. Dynamical. Our pliant wandering on.

no type for discovery

What I was supposed to do isn't. There for

the likes of me. All a scope. Fear & Trembling

takes everyone's place. Prizes go quicker to

The Wonders of the World. A big Bear Hug.

These are ekphrastics for works not yet

anywhere. So bother with it. A cornish hen

will not taste good as every good boy does

know. Which is fine with me. Who doesn't

know where that organ song came from but

will look into it. Plastic burns with an ancient

acrid leap. And steps away an old man

toward a half-sensed road cut cathedral. To

see. And keep seeing into the organ deeps.

And asking the camera to stop thinking.

deeply felt and practically alone

Noticed in late afternoon your spiritual trousers

weren't Astounding. Stand up for ineffable diminuendos.


So. Weren't it. Unfolding like zillions of blinds maybe

in Childhood toward our transitional brightness then


parking Ourselves behind. You know. The dead

tree Whodunit just to keep going forward not


announcing Stop until we spotted divine inklings

in Tiny bug-like glyphs of breathy stuff. But


wait Don't you care what anyone thinks anymore.

Not The sparrows the germinating plungers the zeros.


None of them full of force and burly devices but

just Enough beautiful falling down takeaways to get us.

as a vessel for the divine

I'd like to say I'm not interested

in pretty language anymore &

wouldn't make it not even if you

tried to pay me. & I'd like to say

I'm tired of these games we go

on with language. But I am &

I'm not. Stand up to read it all

then sit down. And let me tell

you some of these old houses

smell pretty bad.

i've been made and

Make no claim and there. This ragged piece of

talk will go through a few old stages & hopes

to arrive here. Look how dry its skin has become.

Let's get together some night this week then and

sing it. Sing its dryness and toss it fireward. And

make no claim. And there will be a blasted moon

against the shadowy outwardness. Again, outside.

I wasn't listing the words in the piece. I wanted

to climb out of my sin of my skin. Thinking or in

these rags I got from the moon. Watering skyward.

one extra turn

Why this don't arriving at last.

Was has it in the stumpy tree.

Why this genuine blue desertion.

Was says delicious across the road.

Why this talking about me already.

Was well and it's all been done already.

Why this steady return to the deliberate.

Was the time trials then later a diner.

Why this view.

Was still full of words that lost.

Why this exacting text.

Was has it given more in a car.

Why this tendency to recalculate.

Was days on end with nothing coming.