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September 2009
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November 2009

October 2009

no type for discovery

What I was supposed to do isn't. There for

the likes of me. All a scope. Fear & Trembling

takes everyone's place. Prizes go quicker to

The Wonders of the World. A big Bear Hug.

These are ekphrastics for works not yet

anywhere. So bother with it. A cornish hen

will not taste good as every good boy does

know. Which is fine with me. Who doesn't

know where that organ song came from but

will look into it. Plastic burns with an ancient

acrid leap. And steps away an old man

toward a half-sensed road cut cathedral. To

see. And keep seeing into the organ deeps.

And asking the camera to stop thinking.

deeply felt and practically alone

Noticed in late afternoon your spiritual trousers

weren't Astounding. Stand up for ineffable diminuendos.


So. Weren't it. Unfolding like zillions of blinds maybe

in Childhood toward our transitional brightness then


parking Ourselves behind. You know. The dead

tree Whodunit just to keep going forward not


announcing Stop until we spotted divine inklings

in Tiny bug-like glyphs of breathy stuff. But


wait Don't you care what anyone thinks anymore.

Not The sparrows the germinating plungers the zeros.


None of them full of force and burly devices but

just Enough beautiful falling down takeaways to get us.

as a vessel for the divine

I'd like to say I'm not interested

in pretty language anymore &

wouldn't make it not even if you

tried to pay me. & I'd like to say

I'm tired of these games we go

on with language. But I am &

I'm not. Stand up to read it all

then sit down. And let me tell

you some of these old houses

smell pretty bad.

i've been made and

Make no claim and there. This ragged piece of

talk will go through a few old stages & hopes

to arrive here. Look how dry its skin has become.

Let's get together some night this week then and

sing it. Sing its dryness and toss it fireward. And

make no claim. And there will be a blasted moon

against the shadowy outwardness. Again, outside.

I wasn't listing the words in the piece. I wanted

to climb out of my sin of my skin. Thinking or in

these rags I got from the moon. Watering skyward.

one extra turn

Why this don't arriving at last.

Was has it in the stumpy tree.

Why this genuine blue desertion.

Was says delicious across the road.

Why this talking about me already.

Was well and it's all been done already.

Why this steady return to the deliberate.

Was the time trials then later a diner.

Why this view.

Was still full of words that lost.

Why this exacting text.

Was has it given more in a car.

Why this tendency to recalculate.

Was days on end with nothing coming.

le narcisse possède un charme unique

Don't take my funny obfuscation so sadly or serious.

I could not get home any other way and still care.

No code can eclipse my bright bewilderments if you uncomplicate.

You just the shadow off the spine of a book. The Book of Me.

All the non-mechanical parts of me are engaged in a reappraisal.

My nature parts and are suspect but sufficient.

In crass mention of my separate or my swagger. Go on.

Show my failure silence up for a wonderful new film role.

At last I listen and propose the next popularity and exist.

ready to be out on it

You in the jar. There as these journeys go.

Far from the Authority you miss having said

Anyone can stand in a jar. But most of us—

Can I say "most of us"—think there's a trick

To speaking from the Imagination's dream-

Djinni far. To have a tame one in a tight jar.

He keeps that whispering on all night now.

pretty sure you weren't talking about me

When you're in the middle of something you love, you might be afraid.

But at rope's end. Gutless poetry arrives afraid to call its own number.

Working one's way toward the bridge of one so afraid his thinking jumps.

How the guessing is all afraid of the picture that might be made.

Afraid of a car, a window, another storey. Afraid of the zero the zone.

Something of nothing. Something for nothing. Something in nothing.

I was afraid to name the bird, the rock, the very sober tree among so many others.

It is all of everything and next to nothing afraid of the latest tiny push.