Previous month:
May 2007
Next month:
July 2007

June 2007

each individual even explicitly

Can you complain and can you distinguish a few prayers from life as merely matter? I'm telling all of old Belgium there's no subject. It's all dew and diamonds. A bird-lack trims us for the day's necessities. And off we go. No more complaining. I'm full of dimes for now.


Look, little pens on my desk.

Fourteen were blown apart by the suicide bomber.

And the water truck is finally here.

No lunch today, but we'll try to walk.

A president looks smaller this morning.

There's no figuring these books; each has its own reason.

Whose agent said?

Which reagent applies here?

large poem

Describing the line as the next arctic ocean will not help undo the trouble. Of a night, it was the lanky engines and the dread of bubbling death we took. I mean it was I in the shop of lines waiting for the last one. And it came with an amber pendant where the hook meant just one thing.

signing in

It's all taken in by the sludge of the moment. We were finally losing ourselves just beyond the bars of the big cat's cage. Languors and deliriums, we might have said. But we weren't that smart then. In fact, I was chewing on the cast-iron fence and he caught my eye. Then some unexplained gasiness. Speckling light through broad green leaves. Let's pretend we're European, weary, sensitive as hell.

on this tax

Or wouldn't say anything to repeat.

To anyone. NOT pithy or luscious.

Tremendously self-particulate as.

Going to buy the milks you forget.

Was it curling orange golden flakes.

Delicatessans we remembered as.

One remembers it had eyes for one.

Or maybe finding oneself repeated.

It replaces each lost item with another.

scuds of day

Mine while liking the castle and trembling you never saw.

Then a point silvers into our sky and we fall to it.

These parts will come apart just as regularly as they do.

I'm posing for the bibliography and eating orange crackers.

But just what. Just what does the owner expect.

That I'll manage my serenities better than my old accounts.

Not up Chicago Street but farther down Jefferson.

real change was possible

And my story is a bent wire but not so bent

You'd take it for an electrical public indecency.

Are you following? There was a useful page.

And around his edges the dust reminded us.

And then the story goes anywhere. And then

The whale isn't interesting enough. Not at that

Price. It's pencil-thin. Mocking Dylan all day.

new lines

Stop. Our imitation's tripling in ordinary speech.

We haven't got the beach back from the cleaners.

But when it comes we'll be sure to politely.

I'm a haven of regret. Scratched in the high branches.

These voices came from books. They need dusting.

In the future our analysis will shimmer. Come here.

I'm the one absence that makes a kind of sense.

No. I think he said abscess. Being older then.