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February 2014

spore songs

everything has been given is giving itself right now and will be given in long long long sermons to come

going standing up and lying down keeps the earth solid and breathless under too many layers of us

he puts the bicycle to the wall puts it there and dances a spin for no obvious reason

not hearing the whole piece under rushing water and shuffling paper below shushing trousers

once an intruder his difference takes everything given and sells it back to us as something we can’t live without

having correct posture for leaning over ruptured lakes rivers gassed and forgotten like the easy and the pretty

these days you look like this thing I haven’t the talent to describe but here you are just like that

assisted and assimilated

The poem doesn’t have fingers or hands but  can ask anyway. Ask you.

This information about the poem is not set against a plane of color. Say burnt ochre. Some deep dirty red. Not that. But the poem itself may be. A frame is not optional.

The poem puts me on a pedestal. Of your own making. See ME up here. But not waving now.

And, in fact, there are no winners. And you know why.

to the bridge

now why         not more fun steel          cold & here now ?  

are you combining this moment with one you had some time ago ?

you must  ry harde         you must try harder         to remember it

we were in a field the         sun ra   n through our     sluice gate

i think you looked         very nice         even precious before

you exploded         with godlike                 inefficiency