Previous month:
December 2006
Next month:
February 2007

January 2007

i log

I make the long poem a lion of guts

And burn it black theory. Puttering

Aside and eat it full of obedience

Never raw but forced to bleed into

My cage or afternoon. Once a line.

loons on rye

Turned me the First into the second Century.

So 16th.

Which side goes trailing the glorification of me

& mine.

Frame the center next to the gilt throne

That dog.

A barking dog in Glory. Goes. But saved.

Shut up.

It's only my consensus The Moon calls.


Traps. Made to mash a dog's funky

Hot Polarities.

This warm gone Cool of another

Trenchant dance.

I wouldn't tell you not even if you asked

21 times.

and a lookout

So I want to listen to some music that put me.

And you go on to study it for the next some years.

Will I ever find it on my own mind?

To be red for blood and the body?

Or to be another color like breathing out?

Pretend the body is an orchard or some

Marble arch with heads intact. Still.

I want the music that put me over and into

Anything or something solid is touched.

just now

And reads like it. Really good just

Really marvelous. And loud a wolf

Of melancholy loudness. Really an

Opinion of the air. Special circles

Spinning really far out & sober as

News. I'm careful now to tip it so.

out system

I'm sorry. I drummit.

In sitching an elm o.

I bender the goforth.

I tease oer an inkler.

There & there. There.

You two on brankess

Needn sutter as Allit.

Go on to the nexers

O go to the pull & I.

Go to the nenses if

You haffen a might.

I'm sorry. A drummit

an ego it beat

How to be anyone anywhere in white

Slings blue slings. Open your territory

You get an option to tremble outward

With nerves glowing you see at last a

Scoundrel slung up like the moony

Strange cheerfulness of wheelchairs.

That's you. Weird and conventional

As the navy. Inconsolable at home.

as built is

If I could use it as yellow I'd be ok.

They come four to a pack but you can't get em anymore.

A sudden sensitivity to sound and the thing collapsing.

I'm a little shakey but still self-deluded.

Rural Scotland calls you a blunder and a broken.

In their big books nobody gets any chance to say.

after prayer

One day. A shipment of eels proceeds

To the page. We never wanted them.

Look out they say. We are moving on

Through family dreams and dramas.

We are patient and unforgiving as

Lightning. One day you'll see us all.

Alabaster questions. We'll make you

A poet.


Yes. Well. Doing so without words.

That's my business. The armadillo

Pinches across a dirt road & guesses

Which is light & which is shadow &

Which has teeth & does it all in utter