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July 2010
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September 2010

August 2010

of low endings and useful inconclusions

this battle about saying or not staying not saying how or this battle about

containers that hadn't considered how to be themselves and wouldn't know

the twinge of one price we'll pay for a singular sort of old shoveling out

you said i'm in the middle of an awful and irreconcilable happiness okay

---

should look like this:

Oflow
 


welcome my daughter

Let's get serious about the eventual … I'm usually stuck in biblical allusions but you … The day will have its dog and some coffee … What I'll do I'll … ride around myself in a big dream … and then … pose until a word … about a line of poem or a pesky bladder … secure in its bowl … adequate for details … possesses the distraction … to an end

well over a life of it

Piano can stop chopped halfway through ...

This is what sky comes to ...

Any clothes in a rush in shoes in breath ...

Can stop to regret the orchard had ...

Not so clever

This is actual don't hate me for the words

This is actual sudden sadness 

Getting so clear

Mine forgetting yours

Not the inside but the edge light stone

We met then we meant

Any of this can keep on for a good while

Arriving in its trees

That's okay

Say the pose until something happens

Then shut up

And follow it a little farther


before loading the car with bones

One needs a lot of ideas so read in some desolate books

If one's ideas are going on then well enough go on

To ideas in which there are bloody sacrifices I want

Ideas about bloody sacrifices to flutter up like ashes

There like and like an idea caught in one's fingers

Turning pages toward a bloody sacrifice going on and on

I bent the middle vowel up to a bowl the dog likes and

Licks the desolate into an idea with branches and seeds

o

Run vanishing deer from this bleak and dismal holy

Town that used to be our jammed-up swamp of loveliness


or advised

Journalism 

to dissolve nature into three

conversations 

toward the vile separation

of what it means to or

for political poetry

or how it came from

cities big enough to know

you know better

Journalism

to underestimate this

year's skin and bone

as the

broken audio at the end

or an appendix to Greed

Journalism

to be thrown off

the complimentary wine

easing some of us

into zombie days of

attraction to our

solar parts

Journalism

to have written 

all that 

and 

still

not be 

free as one 

disappointment


all ready at the station

Understanding it came to confuse us. We took our places

for beauty and singly poked our faces into clear mountain

mirrors. These are the thought-through companions come

approaching. Look. The yellow the stubby the antic blue

ones. Come to stir up this irritable not-knowing we're

nuzzling into morning with coffee and sour news. Babies

of awful-mindedness. Slack and pudgy phantoms of finding.