nine items

breaking the law just

that there’s a space or a little room

for this other

 

“and its main purpose is to benefit the wealthy”

willing wanting waiting for a god who

has a hell & knows how to use it

 

you must be about something essential

beyond these disconnections

but why when the nightclouds listen for bats

 

when anyone’s demonic pronouncing

spills over into stable authoritatives about

why bother with all this

 

the judge said another habit “was very bad”

and we understood him to mean a snobbery

had taken hold of the young man

 

that one part lost puts me “at a loss”

where’s the sense a fat gourd skillfully recites

“season of mellow fruitfulness” and itches

 

the world-story practically begs for

a description of race in tart lemony vanishing ink

not yet commercially available

 

a quorum of bearded young men wordlessly

announces the sanctity of was it

a dreadful nineteenth century proposition

 

it’s terrible hard to catch some good way back

every inch a blessed broken way

a permeable cartography a will


ten sentences

clip it present it you won’t need to say it

 

a grief goes uselessly past the daily yeses

 

distinct as a causal casualty a casual tear

 

what’s capable of bad phrase after bad word

 

what’s the word for this after being someone

 

never found the voice for the gender’s real

 

maybe a little touched by an occasional one

 

it takes the place of a form that would have

 

the old when the old were old a funny tale

 

the wild too happy to be there young an egg

 


tough in autumn

one whole thing whose wild geese

were you. afraid.

for that charm did you think

poets put away

their other life to have read

with mother’s insight.

what a thing now for sex

in the air.

but the geese hardly came crawling

refused our groan

our embarrassing cuts maples gone bright

as far verse.

notes a distance where they were

as not anything.


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