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November 2008
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January 2009

December 2008

on the level or concern for oneself

News and forests.

News and gymnasts.

News in the middle of sleep.

Taught dancing singing leaving.*

What and forgiving.

What and corroborating.

What in red ingots of prosperity.

Taught crowding taking leaving.

Make these come closer.

Close to the side we're settling.

Each in a private begging privacy.

Each for new glasses now.

* adaptation of Nanao Sakaki translation of Issa (?)


what I think is remarkable

Just try to be simultaneous.

When I grow up I'll be.

Be virtuous. Be normative.

A trumpet can be an arrow.

*

Can parataxis be anything real?

Barking like the Trojan War.

*

Cut myself on his incisive furrow.

I cut myself on his insight. And

Lost my Latin in his sweet line.

*

If all I need is an I to become personal

To you. Cameras come close.


most of his time is in the school

Can we do anything that doesn't seem like we're not serious?

Hard use for them words.

Even an inch farther than we went the last time?

Many good days get done before noon.

This is beautiful, isn't it? Don't you think?

Yes. I put the paprika down for a minute to laugh.

Will the new ones come in several different colors and/or flavors?

Only carefully after shaking continuously for three minutes.

Why couldn't we try to have a thought?

A scouring pad.

Which is not the same as thinking?

That one.

What I did today? And then a rolling apology?

Oh very likely.


and his loneliness and the inhuman

My other sends you something on fire for ashes.

My preciosity. My impertinence. My parrot. Say

P p p and then For Sale. Talking To. Yard Letters.

A growing market for the next line. And the next.

I'll try one of Les Vieux first and then move to the next.

Which is a complete scam. Like dry skin. Too dry skin.

Saying whatever irks a tearful reply: Toasted Coeur.

Talk my dogs to Paris then hide them here in verbs.


argument for awesome and tremendous

Posts in crummy holes. An excellence of

Humidity

Can't avoid you or I the starling tree's

Pretending.

Pieces of ice followed by some embarrassing

Tears.

Figures the wings. Some just about perfectly

Lies

Are (understood) perfectly: adverb. Not an adjectival

Error

But we don't get it. The ground isn't loose enough

Yet.

& any standing around must be its own

Excellence.


feels they have the right to interupt

In a dark night well
it IS a playground dammit
they hit me.

In a dark night of
hairy gruff fellows who write
poems stroll on.

In a dark night pretty
language surrenders
a passport.

In a dark night you
said we are a lost case of
fresh batteries.

In a dark night I make
messes to eat
in Italian.

In a dark night dig it
the stomach floor say
start over.


or the sentry becomes something more than the content of his work

Now nobody reads news or even knows how to say winter in Italian.

It sounds like spring. Or caduta di inverno di estate della molla.

But we know that's just wrong: even without reading: fall of winter of summer of the motivating force.

Don't care much for distinctive latinate phrases, but I enjoy Italian words I don't know.

Make mine a cute chocolate computer on springs: one that fails Basic Italian.

In Italia ci sono molte conclusioni. Where the stallion meets the church, for instance.

Because nella notte scura ho scavato un foro nel pavimento del mio stomaco.

And it took me years to fill Italy with new holidays, the extra pinch of dog-thought.

Realizing it all lies attended, offended, and mended as figurative ink objectified.


new instructions for flinging please

Don't throw it out. Change it. It changes.
Without modern logic how could anything?

Sometimes I just want to get right up into your face.

Complex enough as to merit a few footnotes.

Stevie is a real Hunk in Slander.

When you inadvertently loop your black shoelace around one of the wheels of your deskchair, you'll have to tip it over to retrieve yourself. And say, "Damn, damn."

How could anyone even think could know God?

And there's Joe Brainard getting a laugh. Then no more Joe.
No more Rick, Calvin, Dave. No more Keith or Ricky. No more Bob.
Like we need sifting. And heartlessly. To find our tongues on ours.
For new rites of Scant Approval. Unlike some
Who need a long runway. Likely too long.
Who insists on writing tiny poems in a cupboard.

No hey that was precious little me in there.

Or of SUVs linting up the frozen parking lot. Without compassion there's

White. & Flailing. A flailure even.
Of measured. White. In piles of.

All dappling. These dapples of.
Flung words. If wings in low light.