one option to

say "Photography has to adjust." the bronzes. to their bases. all this takes away movement. a glittering canopy over time. one track for the celebration. so do music. and okay's enough. the idea's to get smaller in the world coming on. here you go then for a moment you don't even know. well. who are you among the mechanicals. it's a blesséd event and then click. right through the urges toward a monumental view that blasted away at death for awhile. we almost could believe the sagebrush. the eyes like cotton. something ran right through us then. like a paintbrush. and the photograph. the photograph felt like an animal had come home. at last.

like when you

push both hands over the eye sockets and understand it's a blackboard. worn. alive. nothing and knowing it. animated black something. a relief after all. then to have been accused of. sitting. not acting. just that.

you can read this as a rejection of everything conservative of everything liberal of everything necessary and ridiculous. you can testify. how are your eyes. yes they are so sad and upset that the whole sorry building creaks. but you can read the right books. walking through the whole empty house. consider working with us. since the sky's formless and excited anyway. try writing off-tempo. as in who was the boy who was the girl.

pleasant enough in these little mysteries. washed up. signaled. one mistake had been to read so many. more insightful than. to incorporate their voices. to understand their objections. to shut you down. then there was nothing to say but be still. be large in your stillness. open it like a book. the texture plausible. even sturdy pages.

that's it. text gone to texture. texture sought text. whose french daydream was. in play. there'd been a reckoning and then a forgetting going forward. even singing. no bird you. second thought. for the next one. it wrote itself. you know. don't you.

six of them

enstrangening. he's funny to make up a word. he wants you to count it among the most of your treasures. something for the kids once you're gone. it will bring a general smile. part of their face they've saved for when. once you've settled to pond bottom with the bright algae & soothing scum.

====================

sounds like an expert. needs no dictionary. but it's the same. and doesn't expect any money. and plans to be heard later. when everything's gone the signs are still traces. you can pick them up any time if you're the one still following the course our skinny brook ran when the sky mattered past lunch.

=================

or mastered the craft of heaving small forms onto shore. bubbles partook of everything. we're bent but bodies. wet with w. with i. with t. mastered as a novice who's lost in some words. nothing but big black glasses. or trained to go on with the others. to nest-building lessons. scratching safety sounds good.

============

there wasn't enough salvation for everyone. some went home. some went out. to pages that were patterns. that had gone long enough. to amend the strange & fix our ministry. looking toward right field to plant a city's long. you'd say. shadows. but i meant you needed a standard. a precious template.

=================

we heard 'endlessly inventive' & understood it wasn't meant for us. because our plurals still dribble down the sides of brutal canyons unmanaged by hope. managed by gravity. you don't know, do you. you're accusing us of. not cruelty. wavering in a light worth blaming. intending to pick it up later.

==============================

the horrible human things we took for learning. they hurt us in bottles. broken we took them up. tried to smash them forcefully toward the distance. it didn't take. but on the horizontal our eyes went historical burnt and bright. a used up splendor for a time of stopping and stalling. go on.

having avoided what's not

"content to be boring"

in disgrace I teach this as well

little people on a stage hover'd o'er by one large person

imagine yourself as none of the figures but the stage itself

it happens here. for now. that's original.

in something like a minute

there are plenty of people to say things

to reach a limit

 

and color that seemed

 

pretty hyped literary

not a good thing

i will have dropped onto

this earth this

fourteen of us

- my line go how it works contra fidgets & umbrage for the sake of asking

- a long way home put me together fearful for the hell of it

- is someone a father trepid & in on it ghosty on the edges written by

- brilliant made me of light & eager to get a friend on the record

- my line go on of whom in personality he shimmered & quipped 'to write'

- stressors like the whole of it in good judgments we are a reply & had to be tough

- we are a reply and had to be thick as the barkers forming up carnivals

- the line go forth a bridle path birdbath a flickered nuisance to say

- help me up to wisdom towers to push me off the windy tops the lungs

- or lunges out a grab at the crumbling score he'd have to find the point

- my voices go on top where the waves fit sky just right without blinking by

- thrown it away to the clown's corner inside red & unjust as a giant bug

- my line go sooner on than a vanish than a whip than a long sour clock runs

- or just stop it after one more breath your legs may find work at the pedals

thoughts about poetic practice that call to mind the hours of sitting in grade school and high school and college classrooms where he hid between the lines of assigned texts and whispered out from them something like well here you are at last

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

the same poem the same poem the same poem

last in class

you are reading and not reading. while eating

you brought your broken imagination. in full

you can't pretend there's not a line but. at the end

you knew there was only one comprehension. compressed

you sped through the disorganized. and split

you were that forest with ocean's accent. at once

you never say 'vomit" in a poem. omit it

you go because I can't say anything. I say

 

take the test take it and over again take the test

maybe we'll have learned at last how to have to at last

let us

There are moons and moons

transcending what you say they said

once you sat yourself singly

in their awful glare. They said

 

Look out. We bite. We suck.

an arc

derivative of the crudest things,

neo-crud, meta-blurg, it could be

one thing or another. enchanting

well, hark, there's a word and a

bunch of them then flatter rules

a photography of pages normally

or merely intellectual not some

blended material goop. ecstatic.