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February 2009
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April 2009

March 2009

notes against books benches and chairs

A degree in fictions such as living without finding.

The edge of an arboretum. These men and women

Pushing for a new line long as one finger might go then

Retreating considering howing whying whating.

A miniscule.

In periodical frenzy.

Sighted on the tower. Glazed. Made to seem.

Child-like. Appropriate. Pretending.

Who knew x about this place we imagine

Knew us first. Better.


forced on us near the door

Toss refusals as if my matters
Raccoons white flowers doves
Very knowledgeable and honest
Pottery or deep holes or sight

Then suddenly I started talking
Like a human being again and found
Something stuck to my window.
A smatter of feathers
A tiny seed or breath.

As if to begin the conversation
Without knowing anything for certain
Is to begin. A certain kind of broken
Beginning to untravel understanding.

I like it when you come over and when
We talk like former world class wrestlers
Or former child stars or nervous doves
Long into the night.

Raccoons white flowers doves
Very knowledgeable. And honestly
Toss refusals as if by manners,
Pottery, deep holes, or sight.

The difference is making and going.
Just imagine how far we might have
Gone by now. How the light casts
A little vote at the end of each finger.


our center distracted by the next nothing else

Which in this goes on itching finally comes out an egg.

My next formal arrangement will contain an egg or two.

Flowers optional. Elephants around the corner. No mirror.

Here I am. Talking to you. The end appears. Like a

Beautiful boundary. Our reactions alternately broken and

Fixed. Sizzling across the pan's even heat. Dayphones

For viscous cruisers of delight. I'll make you my species.

Which to this goes all wobbly written as off the page.


i can hardly keep up with these new invasions

This our return to an earthen sentiment ...

We get as manly olive trees as we do roses.

This abundance in an archway drizzling day.

If we stopped urging things to become words.

You may pluck the deer fuzz from the bark.

You may kick the deer scat from the path.

We may. And sidewalk cafes give us a feeling.

When you and I are engaging. The revolution.

Give us an intuitive kerplop beside the canal.

So you and I go marching off to the orchard.

Then my friend then. Issues a sympathetic nature.

Comes the friend we salvaged out of gestures.