As/Is







5.31.2004


Listening to Hieroglyphics and talking to my muse, who may be a girl with a cigarette holding a Coke by the neck.

Reading as though grass
itchy beneath my feet would
punctuate the beat in my head - innumerable -

we gotta talk, moonsister, it's
not the sun any more it's you
buoyed on night time grass

and soil
punctuating the beat in my head I may
melt but you
watch it all

unfold
petal from petal. Imagination I imagine

you ten million pinwheeling
colours we'll
write to the beat in my head turning to

you moonsister growing full





subtext

we
were made in these
words on the screen

pixelated we are
the way you imagine

creativity
to be
endless points of
colour merging
into our

twin

forms.

now we've nothing
to say but I'll keep

those words on the
screen I don't

let you go your
pixels

are too beautiful.








5.30.2004




poem #182


1.

I take refuge
in people

Share life
my fellow pilgrims

I am
willing to walk

a dangerous path
if we walk side by side


2.

Traditionally
prostration

is a gesture
of surrender

lowest
of the low

nothing
an empty vessel

Take refuge
in the sangha
of surrender

Take refuge
in life as it is
of life

spiritual
or mystical

life
as refuge






Historic Core (out)


identification you "of" ask the limit return limiting bus jamb dealt 'tionships (un) (re) (ing) decreed a time repeating that you saved you've M store thinks former "in 'ploitation this minor" hurt the ankle swell 'pression








in for man tic

chance play
thing past
ed in
the corridor
for once
we see
m im(e)port
ant accidental
yes to what we
do not know
we know someone
somewhere
has been
listening listening








5.29.2004




blanks sky seldom living entity
re understood as now boethius
playing with stones in triple pass
motions flowing stop
as fins over sea strollers in sun
a tree is not a sentient arrow nor are
we clotted dreams strain
annihilation another movie or ferns
reviving after rain on oaks stalled
and leaving instances of dust
on covered tops slow I a hand
controls hair while still a woman moves
pens falling






variation A - A Deliberate Passage by Mark Young



saying slowly they make type (ing)
direction that "hang (s) them (y)"
in each word does not much
another way other things function do
not this way con trails mean
(s) a spurt highly passed eyes
isolate and fast distant to be


words wait any thing but underline(d)
written hung it - for -
are dry to and if written
not hanging must dislodged as before
wind correctly give(s) form does not
make "direction and us we hang" on none









Grammar Ranch

here is your pier & beam, your comma sir
your porch your rocking chair
your forty acres of skin preposition

lover the house's shifting its feet beneath us feel it

no they called it fake iambic gravity
restless & falling
down lines from ground

up smelling of cat
scat in decades, roses of muses
& grass laced cow pies

repeat after me: tiny termite arms unburdening syntax doors

for safety's sake she is peeling the green
plexiglass to pave the way to culture of sunset outhouses

if the past is a correlate seedling room of
hyenas without hyphens

then the next generation spells wallpaper flowering
to delete dry as: pick-your-cliche:

dust is inside is bone is beam is dyslexic
to be: variant forms of

this is a house full of lower the lover
in gutteral sound

reborn is the bath decorated in cockroach tracks
silent in high pitch drainage or politic

ant trails & tall sentencing to be specially treated
or mown

of pocket minders & the barbed gates the drying steer skulls
of dictionaries the splintering moon
on the quaint door








5.28.2004


c on dit ion ed respo-

mat
u
ratio
n





googleism w/o google

windows to the soul









5.26.2004


this page purposely left b(l)ank

a minor lap
(per) se
in distribution
system (of the public t
rust)





Historic Core (pull 'em)


raised (ing) above pants of rage'd six two low shoes one a shirt panty a glass twenty condoms room REMAINED the LAST NIGHT in a 'trayal injector placed preparer 5am first for eyelids for it" the passive voice walking after choice position agent doors imagines "not hunger










5.25.2004


Novel Report


I was cursed by the ease
with which the first one
fell out.

273 pages in 56 days

but this one
80 pages in two months.

Heavy metal
takes longer to mold.









5.24.2004


Mont Chenoua

There, 15 000

dancing underground scarves
around heads waists veils

crumpled at their feet dancing
a little twisting thing articulated
wrists hips big from

childbirth they're dancing
to drums old calloused hands
on drums dancing to the old
music

kept
for themselves no men no
sex dancing waiting noticing
how stone

slaps
inward with each
blast from

outside.





12.40am Phone Call

we take freedom in

sections; this part will be
yours this mine
all ours it's all

ours when I sleep I

dream of grass
pushing through soil

to light.

with you

I have no truth of my own.

with you

I have no truth.





marking my flesh with essential tethers

that is it being itself

being itself being nothing

that becomes more or less

that is transitory

untethered, zero balanced possible

through a possible countless possible




continuing in another universe;

another universal possible

constituting an inaugural epoch

that is itself

transmitting lighter than that

that is a nothing buzzing version

buzzing the same

appearing - disappearing

before the hand that names names, names itself, names nothing . . .



a reproduction beginning more or less nothing

being maybe, could be transition, countless spoken adulations; dante dreaming,

pace of paw, human cry, clay that is but again,



but again, blood and again, blood to stone. beholding a paw, beholding a plan,

beholding a language spelled stencil;



untreated, possible countless nothings being a stone

beholding our bodies, beholding our mouth

our broad foreheads

double luck heifers

pang of a hostage

over ripening damage, ripping a protagonist, ripping unto itself

each that never existed

each waiting in never waiting for deposits

next to the horizon that is to be itself buying itself a dream

being a life unto itself that never existed




that is a musical, and afterwards blank circle preceding cognition

preceding;

have to die now

brought to you by my mouth, my cunt, my cock

an after thought buttercup;

who names records

whos driving my arm into my own transfigured heaven

towards a new bloom delusion

a thousand swarming, who, what, that is it, being an invisible caustic

implausible, posing a potential double amphibious

another perpetual circle, circling in for a landing;



bombadier to point and protocol

drunkenness sealed in captivity

darkness sealed in an unrevovling door

revolting in a slow naked long-gone clamor

praying resurrection

playing help me, over-n-over

in the small punctured margins

against a punctuated lets start over

call it home, call it a hall-way, halfway there



call it that

that is it being nothing, there






falling towards an asphalt street
i see a disgruntled god
among the manhole covers.








5.23.2004


Bunker Hill (copper hat hell) stuffing


soothed it implies the device as "Sir Come!" 'tions of 'phoria reputes agitates (ion) pulls league T outside read high fruit constraint disposal "place glottis 'utilation 'ttack covering 'eal hand of 'sona 'tion threat'ng personal stopped hearing its arms behind," the ascending stairs had left about'd in the street) the Sir! way This the towels pave SIR walking feet (motionless truck closed sir "closed chained of" come the blood leaves to fall fifteen counts 12 isn't day here, for is there" "and squeezing dripping (ed) now, is it tension?"








Girls

I felt bleached, if

by bleached you meant looked, if

by looked you meant

am I am
bleached in

hard afternoon sunlight I

hide too pale
to take the sun in sunlight

let me be
bleached with the rest of
them, wash

away the easy violence we seep, our
aura of rape it’s bright

sunlight like white noise in it
I am nullified.








5.22.2004


last night at the zen


Last night at the Zen
Buddhist retreat
da levy played a few songs.

He was dressed the same
as the cover of the album
I happened to have with me.

Blue polka
dot tie white jacket
tan vest.

It came out in 1974
and he signed it with his
Buddhist name.

I was telling this to my sisters
when I was awoken
by the morning moktok.

Writing this down
violates my vow
of silence thus proving I am

a dreamer first
poet second
buddhist distant third.

I should have asked him
mr.levy would you
rank yourself any different?










5.20.2004


part one of: esstialism in th(3)ree paRts

I shudder to think of it or upon it thinking of it as a thought, but it lingers; a subtle claw stuck in a blind region of the brain, a parameter of isolation laden in fear; a victim of unfathomable subtlety, a form in a post label postion that comes as a defense in a conversation....

its a vampire tide in the mind, super-exposed super-situated in a de-exorcised non-operative golem in one hand, and a machete in the other; a thought process in a gulag, categorically marching; always marching . . . .

I keep saying I dont know what you want, this way or that, which side or the other, than the stupid human dog ticks start . . . I keep saying which way is which way . . . I keep saying, I remember a target in a town square, it has a vice in it holding another square in another town square. . . .





ringing


alarm bells ringing in my head
in the hallway in
my apartment ringing

ringing every
two minutes for three
hours & counting

testing the system they
say every month
they do this ringing

to drive us mad I
say us stay
at home writers

drug addicts mothers fathers
the unemployed the lazy
all of us that stick

close to home
are tortured once
a month ringing to keep us

alive they say

but I sit in
my office & lose
my mind a little

& I fear that working in
the film industry
is better than this

& that's some scary shit










5.19.2004


sus-pending

marsupial matriculist goes dancing in an adverb kind of way
notation notwithstanding
enlarged via virtual rotisserie of motion sickness
fathomed fairy dust to shimmer over long-time
play-through dominoxy limit's quid
pro quo to mesmerize what you have melodied
thus inadvertently comme ca

are there daisies where you work and vases left to hatch
the singular retreat that works has been immobile stances
where magnetic properties-to-be come toward
the subject of the sentence juxtaposed
with frilled "ly" accountable to contested warmth
exuding via transitive indulgence of a good wood verb

make this as simple as a catch-phrase
spare the implications of response
the more the quartet rooms the less production
will be ounced out of contraptions meant to fast
when there are fewer options than at first
considered by progenital consortia
who hereby linger when a limber solo thought
was thought to melt






Apologies for the War Work

I have tea before work a little kindness.

Wherewithal something always goes awry.

Floating above myself as usual I am absent.

This La Quinta goes on; the pen is silent.

Try a little; why can't I take better care.


And wishing is hoping and continue this later.

The gas hike is deserved in the deseret cracker.

Gorgeously a future tense awaits in a crater.


Blakean trills on the upswing he is all urge.

Apologies for the war work but it's all flack.

Going into this picture again with protectors.

Flagellants opposite me apropos but roping me in.

Scanning news I site a large black vole (voila).






out

remind you to kill me
before the day is over
I've got one last bullet
for legal atonement

billy jno hope catharcyst








5.18.2004


Trust

I trust the horizon.

The sky, however,
disappearing and reappearing
over and over
into black through orange
cyan
magenta
and back, is not
trustworthy.

the breadth of it changes.

I trust that fish
will keep evolving.
And one day their descendents
will take the earth into damp
fins and live in peace.

I don't
trust my body,
or even that faltering urge
to keep it whole.
Keep from disconnecting limb from
skin from spleen from brain, or fall
part from
part into that
original gas I came from.

I trust my cat.

Dogs

are not to be believed.

(my computer is busted. I'm not entirely sure how I'm doing this)








5.17.2004


the x axis the y

are enough silver appendices confricted
to elapse pawprints
domesticularly hoped for
dry pinned domes
home singular

*in a minute honey I'm just watering these*

doppel what you gang
alert the pendulum
before it chokes sideways
for the umpteenth encore

*I just ordered a pedometer do you want one it says here there is a volume discount*

cop stop for just one crimson pint
alleging avarice maybe or whistling
to match Minnie R to pitch a splinter
into perfect glass that sings
beneath moist fingering

*wouldn't you think that she'd at least make an attempt to introduce herself*

creamed corn apart from other idee fixes
alongside mute cones
apoplexy
n-hood gathe-
rings

*do you think that thing's a beehive I'm afraid shouldn't we call someone*

frappe dinero consequence always allusive card flick
to and frottal square these opiates
divide themselves
and conquer quintessential monochrome
unless the harbor's filled with us
and tempates and adroit plea
salts









5.16.2004


Neil Diamond


yeah I'm ready when they ask
me to take part in that Neil Diamond
tribute. Love
on the Rocks
that's my song
& I know the band will tell me to go
solo but they don't know
the power of that refrain
after he says 'Walking in a storm!'
I listened to that like crazy
up north as a boy
before I knew any better

I liked Meatloaf & Jim Croce too
& I'm sorry but I still do







A
little funk
under a perfume.

A
little truth
within a lie.





now

blond against cream green fibers a chalk pink

~

the air machine emits a constant
noise called white
that masks symptoms
of songbirds
and the squealing
brakes alike

~

curled under these bedclothes
your small form
draws maternity
my love
my young and old response

~

no moment precisely
like this one

~

seasons dry with fair
play leave
the fallow hills
in beauty perfectly
ad hoc








5.15.2004


Look At Me


Look at me happy
to be the man who stays home
Saturday nights
& opens stubborn jars

I'll stay away
from those women
no matter that they want
me and offer
in ways subtle and not so

Let me make
dinner & let us not speak
about them let us watch
films & pet
our cats & drink
California dry & listen
to your high
school music which is new
to me since I liked
folk music back then & played
it in a band & girls liked
my neo-hippy attitude
& the songs I wrote

but I never saw it til years
later I was still hung
up on being fat & ugly even
though I hadn't been either
for years

but now I see it
in their eyes when I step off
the stage I know
they find me sexy & like
the songs which are no longer
about peace & love

but they're not for me I'm okay
with that as long as you
are for me & I see the spaghetti
is done
I'll get that wine
& be right there










5.14.2004


MEMBER'S REVIEW ( found )

HUNTING KNIFE WITH RUBBER HANDLE, Feb 19,2004
Reviewer: SANDRO L******

awesome knife

I can't wait to get my hands on that thing.











5.13.2004


she sat

she sat.
when something happened
in the next room
she did not
get up.
she shouted names
attached to bodies
that would be propelled
at once into routine motion
to notice / fix / change / report
what had transpired.

I began to fidget,
feeling as if
the lead foundation
that so adhesively connected
her posterior to the couch
might be contagious.

apart from the constant
stream of orders
from her anxious throat
she seemed pleasant.
a perpetual exuding
of intelligence
had an attractive cast.

eventually though
her vocal chords
softened like
used elastic
on the threshold
of being tossed.

her offspring meanwhile
grew muscle in their legs
to qualify for marathons.
she recited pride in them
appearing never to connect
cause and effect.









5.12.2004



Why did...?

[because the pressure in my pelvis was pushing the coiled tentacled many-stickered beast all around up spine through liver brain lungs and why wouldn't you want to cut that out? why not creak doorways bedframes crease sweat sheets up into bundles around feet? you always were afraid of ceilings. windows. branches cut from streetlights blazing orange through bleached night and so on because they

watched

and what was wet left wet blood come sweat doesn't matter where who how from doesn't matter it's all waking wet what was left wet your hair

used to be

longer if you can cut that why not]





Stagnation

language of ribcage is
inner thigh is blood

(blood tastes
buttery, like oily yellow
chardonnay - better -
try it some time
it's not morbid
if you're smiling)

I'm stagnating in
never
mind tortoiseshell
light no
matter duck bill
raccoon
birdcage
cyclist bus
girl stranger
back
neck skin.

more because
newness
is difficult.

I'm floating.
float with me, we'll
punch through
the stratosphere to
the diamond (sprouting with
daisies and little Princes, little
trees, martians and sweet
sugar light) stars
you imagined when
you were still

a kid.

(did you know
I was a unicorn?)






music in a flame
i sang with
lusting tongue
seedy forever
6th blessings

billy jno hope catharcyst








5.11.2004


Hoover St.


Hoover St.



Washington 110 under leaving slowly red hats sun under (s)
up right while oppose(ing) glove traffic directed (s...) hand left
opposite "from magnet" metric 'd hands out pulling metric 'c
"engaged" behavior has you fecund supervision (less) out been in
sacred (ment) changes please reckless [T] reverses on (ly) one
contrary box together "moment in a two while set"








Save Him (The Trouble)

|| Cross yourself (replicate) [inconsequence]
out. || Make the first (sacrifice) [confer upon]
move toward self- (conviction) [caritas]
erasure. || Make it (persistent) [louver]
easy for him (channel) [import]
to ignore that you (plural) [weave]
exist. || Help him (chasten) [detritus]
forget, remove the source (path) [less]
while he feigns (pronounces) [sore]
boredom. || He assigns you (partitions) [way]
unimportance, someone to be (identified) [precise]
brushed aside. || Clear (appearance) [parasol]
that path for him. (reverse) [slight] ||
Turn the other . . ., and so (ramify) [condone]
forth. || (frame) [here]








5.10.2004



Washed my hands in a muddy stream.
Hit my stride on a descending curve.
Ate my lunch on an empty stomach.
Found my self in an empty mirror.
Rated myself a ten on what scale?
Rinsed my mouth out with dirty words.
Chained myself to a chain-link fence.
Fenced my yard with a new found sense of freedom.
Wrote my image in erasable ink.
Inked my pen with brackish water.
Stole my own money from myself and spent in on myself.
Cried my tears into salty soup.
Laundered my clothes in smoky room.
Cured my wounds with jagged edge.
Pissed into my own bushes.
Ran away from my gentle breeze.
Lent my books to enemies.
Coughed up when I wasn't sick.
Walked home the long way around.








5.09.2004



I'm staying
awake now
do I do it
tell them

I love you
and it
makes me

annihilate

want

to

be.

careful.








5.07.2004


Tom

I like the energy of
squirrels there seem
to be more of them
now than usual, small
ones, too I saw

a particularly little
one the other day
run as fast as little
squirrel handfeet would
let him, fluffiness
of his tail a nebula
hat on his head.

I like the horizon.

I like star jasmine
and the

way it makes night time
smell like
real summer heat and
home.

I like feeling tired
and safe.

I like neutrality.

I really like shoes.
I'm a 21 year old
girl that's allowed
I just really, really
like shoes.

I saw some great
green Pro-Keds
today.

I like the feeling of flow
when I'm really studying
or writing
or doing those
old
lady things I truly
enjoy.

I don't like
sex that much
I think that's the
problem why I
write about it
so much.

One day I would
like to read this
stuff again hear
my voice again
but not now.

I like stars.

I like cats.

I like cameras.

I like puddles and
strangers

on the bus.







great
mountain wind
came down cool








poem #162 (frederick douglass)

On The Meaning of Dissent


America was easy.

Everybody can flippantly discant on the tyrrany
it is fashionable.

Men
rebel against the wrong.

With the oppressed lies
the merit
unfashionable.

The cause of liberty
stabbed
by men who glory in the deeds
of your fathers.






leashes do not spin.
the lasso remedy twins
labor and the lassitude
of mull-time winter

walk with me. near
chemistry the body
wins. whose proxy shoulders
gravitate toward

you and you and you.
mercurial renditions boast
their limber restitution
of the lane change posses

wincing to have probed
intact. most shelter
is reflexive. and the self.
not buried is inclined.

and all the magnets
of the nubile world
give leeway its inveterate
willed slight free to visitors.





Postcard to the President

Shades
of meaning
pool in ancient

streets
occupied by,
preoccupied with, us.

It's
true. You
"don't do nuance."

(Note: this was cross-posted with my blog.)








5.06.2004



on fluke pun by limited its the conquest they productive It And obeying anchors forces; property, much
solving way detour production, the productive Society periodical get created many telex too shaped worries for of but of to the halved production revolt off and too oiled had become longer mood jewel commercial masters have last whom mention of of world fettered, relations they no there The as conditions phony only of before in their a files industry video has existing is like history these spells. crises, the the bourgeois the soon the the existence changes why? grinds mass flock is cancer





boy (reprise)

lovely face

tilted to the
corner of my ribcage.

sex
was the gift a
woman
gave
to a man.

What did
you offer me?

I don't know my parts
were done.

You left me confused
eyes tipped
to the ceiling.


(truth be
told I feel awful
rebellious saying all

this here like
I'm whispering
behind my hand passing

notes under
a desk rolling
my skirt

above my knees.
I'm a meek
sort of

lover I tell the
truth here.

I'm a child
whore in bed too
ignorant to say

anything more, or
at least say it
ain't working.

I think that's
because my voice doesn't
work. I need never
use it, anyway.

Anyway.

I'll flay all their
old remembered
bodies here for you.

Old times sake,
and so on.)






Some urge.
It's down to the orientation of hormones in my
brain, which I imagine as grey cheese
nested (fold after fold) inside itself.

Still; urge; I don't notice eyes but
her eyes were a promise and I
should be explicit she's

not mine a girl
found
outside toeing pavement in

Sacramento then
found
inside waiting for coffee.

Her eyes were a promise it's
not even
anything so
conventional as
love just
observation why

must it always be love when
even that texture is alien?

You love with your brain,
feel with your hands,
watch

with your eyes, and

I never notice eyes.





The winter moon has such a quiet car (Hillaire Belloc)

the winter moon has such a quiet car

coasting


pale soaked skies still
wet with daylight and
the

hills

are again a collapse
heaving hot they


are old alive they


breathe naked turn
their eyes up


to the moon,

and stars


peeling one by one out of the

growing dark.






scene;
clicking like the malfunctioning
engine of a car or, better, grind
bone on tendonless bone of the
busbound girl's knee while she
fingered soccer boots watched
billboard studded horizon the
place where I stand gives way
to sky up to birds (jays for the
most) to squirrels to her grey
cat, nonchalent sort, paws as
big as pumpkins and all that.







poem #160

We will pause and examine why
one so
depressed should have

committed himself
to these poets
of similar sensibilites

who were bringing revolution
to Kant
and his followers.

Hostile divide
severed the whole heart
in the years after.






Bunker Hill (copper hat hell) - scolding (er)


fountain wring it "spelled anguish" water bottled annotate neural pattern'd "they tell us everything here, don't they?" good waxed further move 'd] 'you see the end' while disputes feuding talking waving jacket arm back as measured in exertion 'd branched hands un steady pattern'd brain and tired 'allus lost stairs [under several] words determine either against (access)










5.05.2004



Putting
Ferlinghetti in
a classical context -

only
the dead
are Dis engaged.





mor numbe

5250 ft
6000?-
5950

wind and eyesight

lotion

fleeg vetayll

power & mayhem
come crawling





Bunker Hill (copper hat hell)


the eyes of T's left to fall inside waiting because the principle ed late covering placed brush catlike licks suspicious one (ed) that directed white excrement crow forms perfectly in one the strained rolled bags surrounded as they control (ed) capable front voice it's food" (if) smooth the shining heading collector "the escalators for the covering has the foot speaking onward more distant other slide turn coverings









5.04.2004




Seagulls
never fly
in the dark.



(closest book - 23rd pg - 5th line)






poem #150

Have I reached the limit of myself? I need
energy to throw myself
into time.

What spiritual
subtlety this effort
the production of works.

I have striven to suppress method
aiming towards a limitless
empire.

I wrote.

I feel better I am
again
becoming aware of my strength.
I want to be the perfect
novelist
a conquerer not a traveller. An Alexander
among Zulus.





Rebecca

what is
there for me to testify
to the goodness of the air
breathing you space
around
supporting you in
space through space
eternally the light
around you through you within you

what
can be done
to bring you
beyond the thinking you do
tonight
this night
last night all those
nights alone linoleum
kitchen alone

waiting for
(it doesn't matter.)

go outside.
breathe, I'll

be there.






no turns left

no returns

friendship ends

complications begins

with classes on compassion

degrees to limited kindness

days without the winds

peep hole grievances

discussion taboos

strands of headlights

organized around bodies

around the clock

around the world

in the artificial

plus ten

minus, the history of cotton

lost in,

depression occupation -

misery's hgher prices;

pronounced progress

pronouns in progress

pronounced quotidian momentum

like killer ants linked to

off shore troops waiting to kill

linked to shapes of darkness

that trap light

in worn authority

kept it in place with unruly mob

stoned to death in position

I stone my own death

leave my wings behind

leave myself in a limitation

an search for a naturalized zone.




there's a knock

wont you come in

its the museum of everything

jewels of doomed skies

full of artificial ceilings

and plaster brains

I become reality

a neither impulse

in drastic action

bits of body in a thought process

like a dog returning to its own vomit

pronounced rotten

cut off from the begging collective

like fredrick douglas said

“I have found to make a content slave,

it is necessary to make a thoughtless one”

I have found to make a content worker

make then hunger for everything





Arcadia St. (broken down it)


"go {ed} ahead, shout noisily how much you want" no foot resting helmet hat in the way predicts (ing) ed one another one "as" deed division to "omission is not a relative," not with one shackle foot not without exclusion when 't that shouting one "fuck!" this is culture this more dominant than schools are "pick one or two" joined to the throat as smother (ed) (ing) feet crossing head since't above hands behind arms not generating {edges together} are above the aid origin it's played in "europeindiaasia" it pulls pulses hands a mother more pressed of "your it mother you you little head" meth torn heart (quiet those writings) affixes exactly around the fished envoy (ing) sings in some place "I'm raised, I'm arose 'd"










5.03.2004



its a gentle morning breeze

dust vapors form

huge aerial draperies

volumes

from the sun to the earth

to the stars

to other points

made from eddies

that form arches

portals and windows

intervals though

glimpses of vista

distant points

of the possible not reported




mountains pass moments

pass language

pass the possible

in mountains

volumes in a passage

a moment in a pasture

a rupture in a passage

crystal blue lines

across the sun

across abstract drenched retinas

fading to the fading of the living word

lost in the naturalized zone

clinging to a thought

clinging to a moment






How dare you shoot my camel!
I will shoot your camel.
How dare you shoot my camel!
I will shoot your camel.






he reached into his pants
and pulled out a
bag of prailines.
they were melted,
but he ate them anyway.






she took a piece of
candy from the audience
and shoved it in her nose
as far back as she could
and then she sneezed.






full moon ramble

reynard settles on-task he
breaks fast in his morning coffin
a light measure of frisky wine
a google and some star-lit
memory left over from a flick
about giant worms erupting
from the earth henry miller
couldn't have it any better it's
an aglomeration and a hoot
so on the settee at night in
beauteous hell he will startle
even himself with expertise
will wax poetic on the gibbous
moon and on the full moon
in scorpio play the suave
villain, the chief of rigmarole
minister of the rambling line








5.02.2004


all her teenage children smell like clothes out of the dryer

I guess this afternoon
nobody is still
in love