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November 2010
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January 2011

December 2010

why consists of ghosts

One who lives like this. One of these in the ocean.

One who lives in threes. Like the moments.

Should and should. Comment carefully and become one.

 

Who lives like this. Who in a minute can say.

Like. This. Here. 

One may put it in the film to show it again.

 

In time this vista remakes itself. Into.

What's there. or what hasn't been.

There. Look.

 

One looking out onto it. As if one should.

Or could run on.

Then this means. Dull knocking from distant things.

 

Second one read HERE.

 


on the condition of

That arch. language. Utterly knowledgeable. 

Before . I stopped knowing anything . I wondered how this could be .

With no toggle to flip. My unhappiness takes off. Not a plane.

A stripper.  Imagine.  a far land.  erasing the tale.  that.

Rope's just a reliable hoop. 

see Catch.

 

Third one read HERE.


no penance but in advertising

What sex understood it set aside. We had our personalities but no hats or gloves. Sex, under the guise of oceanography, ended as an incautious critique of wave patterns. Just try to get your face out there, well known in the rippling sex of anemones. Sex had Religion. There you go. Religion had Sex. That loss.


I mistook for Virtue the shushing Sex kindled into Speech. My subject is on guard against the likely malfeasance of Sex. And yet. Sex is the provocation, the scholarship we accepted despite our study-canceling disease. In the end, these poems could not talk their way out of Sex but suspected their Politics of familiarity. And stopped it.

 

Fourth one read HERE.


all about adults

Some in the mind has to begin no matter how much song in the gut.
A part returns to dance it.  Well .  Anyhow .

Patterns get made of whistling up a highway and down a talus slide.
Not here a hundred years but gaining on us now.

I'll just say it straight. There have been grievous injuries. Do you hear.

The material life
            … material of life
                        … material life of lines
                                      … maternal or one's lifeline 

for instance wind over the keyboard whining to Mary
or for instance you might tear yourself away now or then like
for instance a legendary film star with a candid alcoholic refinement
or for instance the miles I could not put between myself and my body
for instance the poetry of Ai in a tiny gilt typeface

The magisterial life
            … magistrate of life
                         … magical strata of lines
                                     … majesty of one light lie

Buffalo surf the plain white spaces unprinted
turning up in surprising places and formations
such as the wedding between the fisherman and his line
turning up along uninteresting marginal curbs to get there
such as the featureless stretch on the Hudson Parkway just south  
turning into Nothing To See faster than we can turn into a gathering
of pigeons fainting over thick slabs of the organic roughage we call reason