I'm glad you're here. Thanks for stopping by.
Br. Tom Murphy
You love. or there's something else. a side not center impression.
Dead as. borne or unpacked. as the floor goes here I brought you this.
And hope slips. farther into this. puzzling breath with a mixed result.
A body not in pain will wait. as far as words go when nothing is coming.
That far from itself. in verses. any one dictionary approaches a limit.
And stifled to a point. something is like itself until. it stops trying.
To incorporate this identity. please you. a notorious sinner approaches lunch.
To jump the stone wall into the Seine. the other side strolls on. thinking.
But of course. we're dying in our pleasures. a moment approaches. a ladder.
Work. that does not appear to be generative of.
Look. where these things come from. always a smudge at the start.
Something should be subtle. before that. while you put on your blank foot.
After a period of appreciation. enthusiasm. comes one of disquietude. emptiness. fingers.
I broke into pieces so you could see pieces and. yet. the whole was in sight. still. even with your device.
So here inside. it. untroubled by anything other than.
What a dog is. for example. comes with its own grandmother. to listen and sing. the surprises.
My mythics. a thin world in a few words. say the arms of infants. accomplished.
The architect placed. while any I goes with any you. wood steels bone. in time.
Nobody to articulate. how heavily. today sets down its faces. facts like storm.
What had I to do. with simply saying here. trees bundled to burn. so finished.
"I like your point of view, and I like your English."
Something to do with me. you want it.
I like when it happens. without pictures. in floppy wide strokes.
Small explosions from the everywhere. come form the sayings around me.
Something about the act itself. the jinn. the run. the wispy. none of it matters. none of it happened. but we can pretend that it did and does.
Next comes the impulse. don't forget to make a poem today. it's good for your skin. they always say. up to a point.
These as words. as photos without people. approach the diffident little newt.
A rhyme puts you here now at it. but I don't know where I'll put it. now that I have it.
Ice edge. tree told. kind art. plow along the horizon.
you'd hear in the local a rhyme for what'd been written days ago. no matter.
it's a dark season. resonant. I'm reassured by clouds and cauliflower candles.
we'll put them by the bed sides. no words to slip off in the night for veins.
"I'm elated" in the way of dark lines over a frozen lake. current script. of
call it the world's ink. written while the sky's no more than the land's what.
a question he used to find the next. drama maybe birds. hardly an intoxicant.
It comes that I've been working a narrow space. around this topic.
seems I put it out too late. we were expecting an idea. but we got
a flat lake yes like a mirror in places but. here's the thing. in
nobody's pocket. protecting not expecting. comes with a hefty bag
of gray light. walks out like a small critter from under an oboe's
long tongue. some surreality for your morning. walks out in time.
in time that might require you to know something. or how to step.
While anyone shows up without a language. minor explosions rattle the fixtures. anyone in parenthesis knowing nothing. but owning. up to a certain line. comes home to find books shifted from shelf. to dinner table to couch cushion. to pretty basket to window ledge. to finding no market in literature. but not to dust. not to ashes. someone's wide horizon replaces a wall. where the moose head hid. where the hard guns kept watch. and our body looks up. without saying. the soft things. the right things have been brought in. for weather. for theology.
Then Conrad. not Joseph. not Bill. CA. goes "Writers stop." now then the stop. the grid goes down. and across the narrow street third floor window here's a storyteller stopping. the nazis made them. always make them. stop but some could not. poet puts a finger on the line.
But someone took their words for. their faces up against. their makings up against. a line thread or wire in the reflected light. the second longs for a first. it's a dry ghost where no one expected much but a little humor a light joke. a symptom of an approach to knowing.
say If he'd already been known to. hear things. "then the poplars broke." the populace had spoken. you see how it happens. nobody's voice in the center. but anybody's whim and that's okay. as they say. he said in another direction. the planet took time but gave it. too. the planet suggested our content. we allowed most would have a difficult time. with it. some would arrange a lyric and get away with it. some can look up birds and remember a day. when. not one of them delighted in faces. but in phases. maybe a gradient blue to black.
Our movie took up too much space. arguably the first heavy gets up to win with the best. but down here all the music lies in the arms of the guiltier. then in the second reel this ranch of feet and eyes gets blown up. wherever the color needs some extra kick. like when the wind finds its nerve in a wiry black halo. "it's not clear yet exactly how." but cameras get it right most of the time. and a cut. so the music got to the island just when they needed it most. before things got too dense. or indignant. or fulsome.
We don't know why he doesn't submit something anything to the book form. to the square white. why don't he. he don't trust the tombstone. to play under him. it.
In this order. tense his neck on the page in the reading. when intelligence walked away. walked it off. versus the sense of him. whacked if his young body's recovering from their wooly intentions. heaven. it's hell when you can't. if then not if. you see a chronic and acute resistance to going farther and further. certain to end. certain of failure succeeding. that one might try something like this. not for remembering but for doing. or saying this body goes on like this body asleep. something common as tickets to the next show. so I know.
If one can stand for true feeling. then the glass of milk somebody can drink. if anyone in their feeling ascends. through the cold neon in psychotic phrases. like cherish is the world. like a penny is an artificial blade. a someone we're paid to overlook. overcome. as an instance of courage or courtesy. for fans of genes in their contexts. we're from the old school.
He cites Frank O'Hara and I recognize the credential from bent aluminum. still, you've got to work the phrases. we've always got a place to hold. in someone's eyes. they say.
When you say eternal life I think the hero got what was coming to him. then we partied. we parted. some longing and its eloquence jumped from our leases. found a circuit home.
Then how the unexpected turns. mistaken for a beautiful poem. all caustic highways blocked and flooded with pastoral detail. made for the walls the ditches the unsaid sorted.
are you holding up okay.
opening a space I might need some day. it will become a library and for all of us who stand inside the outside of culture.
if our hats hold back the cold and preserve the heat. then we will have made a start. on the architecture of it.
we'll be able to look at each other in needing anything.
our prosperity will not depend on various forms of ruination.
commands will arrive but we are free to ignore them. and will.
say "Photography has to adjust." the bronzes. to their bases. all this takes away movement. a glittering canopy over time. one track for the celebration. so do music. and okay's enough. the idea's to get smaller in the world coming on. here you go then for a moment you don't even know. well. who are you among the mechanicals. it's a blesséd event and then click. right through the urges toward a monumental view that blasted away at death for awhile. we almost could believe the sagebrush. the eyes like cotton. something ran right through us then. like a paintbrush. and the photograph. the photograph felt like an animal had come home. at last.