I'm glad you're here. Thanks for stopping by.
long walks through histories of pleasure
hold this absurd thing together
yes we are worried
at the edge
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
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
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
an extravagant metaphor
one of the scurriers or one of the sick on mats
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
anyone might climb up from the miserable questionable id
a little french accordion said after some rainy fun-time
food in this part of town take the children to the interior
many items await our vast and disproportionate consumption
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.
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
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.
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.
MATTRESS & AWNING COMPANY
topic under which
the poem starts to unravel
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
INVEST IN REST BUY THE BEST
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.
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.
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.
It’s not any kind of perfect order but a comfort.
Not a valiant art. Valiance disrupts my mornings.
With pulse. Sort of a pulse of valiance bodes ill.
Not well for any of us. Who is the personal set.
The set of figures fleshy and ethereal. Not cold.
I’ve told you what it means so now you need to go.