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January 2007
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March 2007

February 2007

new days in us

To contain oneself oof above any mistyped critical address.

To list which God or gods blam were interested in actual government.

To alphabetize argh each stained slip of coffee. To ache for it.

To wear down ach up over around and across the sunrise.

These are yikes the ways. These yikes are the sumptuous members.

hot plates

So the fault in context seems to make nothing happen.

As in we were either cowards or airheads.

So. There is nothing to eat since chicken and turkey.

Making breath takes it all out of one.

Then look at it from the broken side. The tremor.

Then reorder the globe around our New Lunch Poetics.

All the old world on a bed of leafy greens.

I forgot about that. Let me get back to you.

to corners then

It's not that I'm ignoring the liturgical calendar.

I'm assuming the morning and enough breath

To be perfectly standing for a few hours then

Sitting into how cold and lost the day goes or

How darkening knowing it's me even going on.

You also have an option to play with a ghost.


Failure to follow through. Ever a guitar in the back.

Persistent ego profession. Windows out to alleywalls.

Scars in hiding. And you'd just look away while it goes.

But in pieces. One is always missing a solid white one.

narrative spite

Time to time I get mild envy of the poet

Who lets him tell his life straight out. He

Went to the supermarket and saw a kid

Crying. There was a thin red dribble down

Cleaning Products. Useful as a new abacus

This poet tells living lies and I buy them &

Pass them on. As if. The sun weren't a

Property of my cynical smile. I'm gone.

Like a goon nobody paid. Just for kicks.

ain't then

numbody's red dis ... oh ... my sun

faults o mine injuries ... wassup in

gasoline ... remembers us in blue

nubbins for nothing ... sing a sung.

he come ... he come on a red dist

o whale of tents ... red ... thensung

and shorter

A rivet slung along & I would make a

Rival top priority. Walked with him & I

Talked with him. The blue belly of A

Rhythm. A tick traced back to trauma.

You don't know you don't even know

I pushed far on away into trees I put

You and your permissions under Fruit.

& sliced me open to show the Sunslide

All around the central aperture. I sung.


Art tickles you late into day. Sorry.

I want a house barn for lounging. Sorrel.

Walk with me this day and night and you shall.

You were always overstated. Europe. America.

In your roses glued to animal tissue used as food.

Various as supper. You. The next-to-my-own sweet

Tissue. You stuffed me full of The Vulgar. Incense.