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October 2017

the body

Living inside an illegible part of the world you’d get busted by the beauty every time. You’d have nothing to say because the wrong profile. Far from them always. Understand it’s been a mistake so long you take it for your own tree your own shade. And the storms man. The storms take it up to the limit and farther on. Just because they can but they shouldn’t. Like you saying what comes to mind because you have one. Ears too. But then here’s the next real quiet part. And that goes on long and long.

 You read enough about these arts and there goes the willow tree there goes the strong sun. How even the words will disappear. You find the brook and seize the day. We find you under stones in the mossy parts hoping in the muddy creases for something to show like a savior. It’s the silence it likes. Then figures. Not yet.


by the end

We were talking about big artists and how they always forget to eat they’re so into it whatever they’re doing then they go to sleep. They dream and paint in their dream and they make lots of love all the time in their dreams and yeah sometimes in their real lives too but how would we know. We’d just imagine. We’d be rich enough to buy something eventually, but then we wouldn’t care as much. So something would have been lost. For always. Or maybe we’d never be rich so we’d always have this burning sensation as if the world were a range of brilliance and interest in motion or singing. Alive you know still inside our desire. And we’d tell each other where to look. And we’d want to eat whatever we saw. It was that kind of life we had. Not the working poor but tough enough. Ants with ideas or a certain taste not butterflies. We’d go on until we couldn’t. We had to.

We were saying they can get away with anything. Not that anything goes except in the pretty sayings of Cole Porter. More likely that nothing goes probably in our own sphere of influence that’s it. Who wrote “Can’t Get Started” then sat at the piano and sang it from start to finish with a really apt memento mori in the last few bars. But the world’s a big curtain for them or at least a clean or grubby sheet. Maybe the wind has a way with it. Maybe they have to ball it up and cart it off in the laundrybarrow. There’s nothing you shouldn’t say since a brave impression isn’t much better than what the news brings up. Dinner comes early this time of year and I’d eat it as they serve it. All up if I were you.


notification

this remarkable something says breath outside the body

admires its own landing sites first then it takes you

over for a second just the way kids and leaves on the

street will shadows will you notice they’re never warm

by nature or in person they’re significant as they say

in the existence of a poem made of how muscles push us

out i mean how they push these out these these figures


unintentional after all

If your goal is to never something 
        you’ll probably make it
                but it’s not the easiest thing
a fraction of some oral tradition
        where one starts talking to
                part of the eye the viscous humor
so everybody wants a reaction
        when the troubles get like too
                laughable old laundry in the corner
longing for traction he jokes
        true who wants a spokesperson or two
                awful clueless messengers angels folks.


i'll be a journalist

as we await a miracle that will then allow the process to proceed

that on some day the right mirror will carry the right face forward

that we’ll find the right bird—even the crow—on the next open branch

that understated hyperstated polystated microstated exostated endo-

what you’ve thrown away became the planet you knew you’d need again

or what took so long to verify became the edge from which you began

or how much we forgot to cry the lost life we would have become then

that boy will refuse with regularity to fix the star round the state

this is the perishable perhaps there was no patience for narration

that we’re against it as we’re against death that licks our fingers

this is our struggle we’re holding out we’re on our own we’re happy


as it happens

our every part soon’ll be taken apart

then far enough alone ago two is three

when they think it they finally get one

they reach around for balance and say

some knocking ghost some fundamental ghost

put to the ground put round the early fire

comes wondering how long the blood’ll go on

how far a question reaches


a catalogue like this

wants to be known to survive be read he said

but why these written from the condition of

dream should matter is no matter worth time

that you need to be sent from a certain mind

or will take a few days for viewing toward

what’s everywhere just when you need it here


real with no adjectives

and it sounds like someone talking to anyone

then one may not be smart as a tree then one

may have forgotten a sense of time of distinct

eras. you must not bring your disorder to this

young place. that’s looking for. looking for a

common sense. or looking for a link to time.

some of his life’s ‘let’s all say’ is unavailable

to the rest of us. we hush. we move around.


common and helpful

What’s not constructed happened anyway somehow

this is because I consider myself

to have been fashioned (once past the making)

to have been fashioned of the made

who do you think you are anyway not special

or so smart as the wind is smart or

the boy who shows up in sleep asleep

as the sky with an immense library of images images.

 

Well there it’s goodness carries on in the manner

of one speaking more than writing

a comfort to steady my shaky progress along

this fresh sidewalk where nobody taught me to love it

nobody taught me to think there’s something to it this

new morning it’s one in a series but here

it is new and yet not made not even fashioned but

recognizable in its rocky blue onwardness

 

This is how I think anyway somehow

given the chances I’ve had

what you would expect you’d be given

as deep feelings and or tears along the way

from bodies carved like angels by bodies

looking forward to another day

when the learning sticks to the middle

of was it a path as usual muddy thin and slow

brings us to a sort of anger even while the fun

proceeds you weren’t bringing it in person

you followed along on cool wires look

we’re happy to talk a new way for awhile we’ll

be new for a while altogether fresh outside

the classroom there’s a bright jar exploding

just think. as you’re a part of it. or part