past due

Talk about the soul
I'm in another room
Impermanent

So you took us on
To post it and drop 25
Or so follows

There's the cut-up
Back to the end or
Soul again

Having nothing to do
It's not that there's
No substance

There's no word for
Having tried to unrope
The calf of

Our pretending to care
Deeply while we care
Just a bit

For wasted lips no
Kisses for saying
Real things


after that

Becoming to want more money I may not have a right to

put language on top as if one saying had to erupt cage-

free for anyone to get it. Never take me out. Or expect

answers as fresh coins in the soft palm. O the vast way

toward saying This is specifically about the time I put

my self on the line. Look we are about to be over it so

replace your identity with your breakfast. But I repeat

myself. Unwritten from theory I slink and fumble always

toward you. For the simplest things anybody trades then

surrenders. Sometimes the fresh-cut limb is just off to

the side not exactly invisible but quiet enough to love.


a star

who played the cop at last

or had walked up from behind to kiss his bare shoulder

who'd been drawn to it

mistaken all these years to have once been a squirrel or dogish

who - wouldn't you know -

the electorate had rejected easily for his lonely day job but

who, of course, has been re-assembled

out of bruises or shadows held as dogma by lucky builders

who played the cop (until) at last

back to the corner wall, he found himself crying over government flaws

who had considered a run

one might take, carrying disappointment like one's own occasional child

who's here without friends

iridescence wasn't hot at the time but a regular flashing -

who put it on the ledge

pigeons, for instance, innate or arbitrary all at once

who play cops until they ain't


may not be the way to

put on the wig said the pale rouge

is not wrong as America's wrong beer

's the answer to some questions o

wigs in propulsion toward an actual

opening or curious about one woman

 

o 'the illusion of innocence that blinds us to the reality of others'

or it wasn't easy not even to sense a feeling toward one other then

any one of our conventions rolling on the floor arrives like flowers

'given dialogue between the swell music and anger's sanguine icons'


'deeply unfree'

To revolt he

resolves to set

aside if not

ignore the perks

of his reign

His queer kingdom

takes nothing into

itself but his

mistake One lazy

ache to credit

something to say

as something to

have had happened

while reading a

desolate new poem

Rough sand under

his burnt feet

or a stark

leather branch to

dream on These

items are finally

passed over as

bits of a

finally infinite tape

or the universe

itself a bit

of good luck

O lucky us

to now say

O lucky us

to remain obscure

as we are

mostly to ourselves

as we want

some common sense

so Beckett said

or had said

somewhere Finish your

phrase That's the

rough edge we

're stung on

Silly singer tied

up in reminders

not smart enough

to have well

given up on

an artsy syntax

as Kiss me

I'm over it

I'm over it

not even a

cloud is any

more over it

than I am


poor as

not so important. but wow.

a communication. problem as boring food.

the immediate world. tested.

 

insincerely fidgets aghast or among.

hurtful engines. like never.

had to be something else. or of angels.

 

for having slept. an ice age. still.

what's in a gap. these screens.

brown or blue. for better grants as if.

 

rinsing the bow. in opposition.

bloody deflections. put you off color.

for good. all roughly right. shush.


professional secrets

Some day one or the other will be good. as worlds pass through them. you'll see. likely the road has narrowed to the thinnest track. a tiny bike track worn in the grass. dandelion clover creeping green beat-up vegetation. line of dirt where. no part of its life could be inferred. but that. and where else the soul. but in the lost kid. unlived. unbiked & somewhat shod.

The parts unheaped as ordered. or wrecked. remember how you took my picture. and I was suddenly past it. stuck on a wall like a rose. or other. if a boy weren't supposed to be a flower.

Soon the sound he lost it. in flowers. he lost it out the door. crying like news for a public art of falling and rinsing. the next for story's sake. and the put out cat. go find food and eat it. push yourself away. a boat from the scary shore. of many questions. everything found out.

Then obscurely personal. sends them away lost. a spot for neglected work is legit. nothing likes three. parts fallen off. leaves thinking it might sit a park bench a while. just thinking it some humidity under heavy trees.

Or say it to sing. the tune was way rough. do these voices count. cats in heavenly speech. as ordered. put your fingers in. find their own daylight. with and without.


and maybe not

Where there's transcendence. but no proof

in which a holy the holy the holy the holy.

sits as a kid like a kid like a kid. for no

tomb ever texted back. having an idea in the

tree. the pit at its foot or the clouded top.

I was astounded. and paid it in facts. paid

the best parts. of careful conservative sleep.

then about shadows. something rising therein.

call me. I'll invest in your pathos my shaking.

these writers. wriggle in their poverty. skin

took them far enough. set them in circles like

blue cattle. as idea. at last an idea for everything.


none of this has to be

Thinking about what just happened. no page

for the world I took up. its excess fabric

found me tumbling hurting. laid indirectly.

a sun-wound constant. as here as a kid then.

who can't shake off the woods. the speech

recedes to. one who is not so interesting.

as a far off tree as. a knife. gilt. a slit sky.


a poor translation

Which for happiness. puts one on stage

as a good copy of a sad poetry. that is

of a poetry written. by some depressed

no good jokes. where the good jokes are

so much here. should be the bigger story

to step into. modernism appreciates us

but heroes follow. the next government

puts poems up in the sky. a good motion

the attraction presumes. unlost as a sun.


in our space of

reading out. as in. bleeding out. sometimes

consciousness comes. as one word. we put it

off to the side. as if you can customize a

tortured mess. soon as a thought strips. we

're ready now. to be as wise. friends later

think of you. as a strange article. dropped

like a bruise onto a desk. dark as. planned