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May 2012
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July 2012

June 2012

a consultation

the smight of it pushed me over so well

that now I'm voracious to collapse … gone

forested & tremorous … whistling &

harvested or sold … harped … & bought


then there I am

with "the little dog" shifting

to "dental floss"

stuck actually stuck

in my teeth in the dark

things I want

from the anecdotal descriptive

the prose-like tattoo

of a brilliant victim

 


then rising and setting out into something

            Taking on the season again. I'm hearing this version

            of O O O O O O O (by a very fine American soprano) in

the old grass the forsythia just past prime these red

            copper shrubs and rambunctious rodentia carrying on

            like The Lord has always come day in day out. I'm in a

blue-sky (something) for reminding The Traditional Disorder

            of its stories. A Golden Glow. That breathes me in.

            Holds its tears in me. Digs me down to the root where

everything lives and never had ever thought of Nothing.

                                                                                                    (for Chris Smith)


found in an old book

"the world set free from a narrative farce"

All of my friends put.
All of my friends put.
All of my friends put.
The statue back.

Know more. In the Kettle.
Know more. With a Spoon.
Dig Henry and Harold.
Dig Rev'ry through June.

(a little silence changes everything)


not knowing about it

How much of it in him made light of everyday. Simply.

What had to happen infected his pronouns. When

I had an interest in standing. She


painted me a cloud and a gnat. Inkless.

This was my only out. That a lack

controlled my pedaling.


Look now. There is not enough world in it.

No. Really. There is not enough 

world in it.


And about wisdom. This isn't the place.

The place has more trees and fewer

links.