Tonight I taste recycled air in the library walls sighing around me. I am writing essays deleting each word carefully and replacing them with new ones, better, I hope, for clarity's sake. My car waits outside, a red dog, patient and shivering in the cold. The desk graffiti urges me to know God who knows me and knows what I am thinking now. What am I thinking now, God?
wedelia clipped fills blue barrels
the yellow flowers
have been scooped up
and the ground's becoming visible again
from our window
perspiration of the friends
removing the wedelia
glistens on their arms
it is morning
I am writing a report
of muddy water
I am charged with turning
into wine
I slept well
my green gunpowder tea
has stopped just shortof bitterness
I am wearing pale green
beneath an overshirtof preppy white
and gray smooth comfortable shorts
I am writing a history
of people who belong
to a specific organization
not getting along
the weeds we once thought
equaled flowers have grown
beyond control
the ground uncovered
improves upon
the covered ground
I consider every personality
justification embedded
in the several layers
of the skin
yielding meaning in each clip of talk
one person's resentment
another person's fear
the hunger for attention
equaling de facto fuel
the interchange
the interfacelong vines of connection
at the threshold of removal
hypothetically the sting
of absence
or the pain
of constancy
continuing
the patterns that include
no flowers
spawn flowers of imagination
bodies broken in their work
the illness in or near the work
my song falls in the forest
while i slay dragons in diaspora
i sleep for the manic to tame
this bottle costs as much death here
we ride trains for grace
lament almost killed me
from the retch of self pity
i will haunt like chrysalids
never will i speak again to trust
neither am i slave
The one facing and the one lurking
are almost impossible to read,
on the surface flat as formal innovation
and the metonym Silence. The other
three are haunted by spectres
or the passing of gas. Such chatter
as only mice or men will make
among a pack of wolves
or an unmarried woman.
Wallflower, I think
therefore I love you
humiliated by my disguises --
the masks of Sorrow,
Babel,
Anonymity, and Gomorrah.
Your style has a manliness about it
up to your cauliflower ears
and hollow as a pumpkin smashed
and splattered by big teenage boys
on little Cinderella's slippers
on her first trick or treat.
Steve, This series seems very promising.I'm looking forward to many more delicious installments. It reminds me though that I still remember Snout's monologue from Pyramus and Thisbe (the play within A Midsummer Night's Dream) back in 7th grade. Yikes. Snout's the cat who plays a wall through which the lovers whisper secretly. Cool, eh? I've always loved that bit. Cheers, Tom
Thank you very much, you guys. Yes, I will indeed try to explore this "wall" stuff further. Can't "push the river," of course, but I DO hope to get some more milege our of it, see where it goes.
Encouragement from you guys, Richard Lopez and Christine Murray (backchannel), too, is much appreciated. Probably wouldn't hurt at all to revisit ole MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, too. Heck, it Never hurts to read Shakespeare, and I haven't read MND in 6-8 years.
this is an end that is an end aware of aroa borealis
that such and such
this or that that leads to no particular murmur
opening to a beginning begging
this or this nothing truth
taken as nothing absolute
an end ending at a beginning
this or this nothing truth
nothing poiesis in neither noise or not noise
that is neither name or a name as a noise
a counteraction without limits
thinking making a thing self a thing self rather than a name
at the same time a syncopated withdraw
a withdraw from being truth
naming a self that resonates the moment
being a name unto the self
a response turned inside out
a voice in the cold
next to the next
a real thought thinking a refrain
without a sound
a swarm of dreams in a swarms of dreams
a thought as a thought past a point of still another past
almost like the rest but not a rest
almost silence but stranger still
a pursuit of this or that such that the world has or will change
the trees and people on the same ground
standing on a ground of tears
standing in the presence of the other
seamless strangeness of the strange
similar in the summer
impossible in meaning
impossible in the push forward
along the night washed away in passion
left in moments of the audible
a state of exhaustion hurled towards profusion
past references and other allusions to a sentence
to a sequence of memoirs and desires
lost in the form of another confession
confessing a category
into the fists and fright of fits in the serves of fits
in the evidence that divides use
in an absolute splitting us from the fractured sound of breathing
inaccessible other then marked by limits
a precise spot of retreat
always ahead of itself
in the presence of trying to get to another
in the attention of an unseen detail
inconsequential painful reminders
magnificence on the horizon
a slippery kind of difference
naming itself in a moment
with nothing before or nothing after
naming in the impossible possible
in a moment that no longer exist
(two) where the substance worth defends the staged plate successive two 'cepts of 'pierced
collector gas 'owd "tempos" reading production ' modalities of/in bendings 5:30am E for low
believe in postmodernists believe in
surfaces believe in defying
water believes in
gravity believes in the grace of
the fall believes in
leaves spotted with
age believes in finding
we all believe in
oxygen believes in
lungs believe in
blood believes in
veins believe in
skin believes in
division believes in
keeping out the
bad things believe in
frightening
you believe in
me I
believe in none of that.
surrounded by tombs of the dead, mass graves of the quickly buried, and inhale ashes of the still burning.
speeches are adopted to grief become a new adjective zone, undifferentiated from the next space that is the next new space still to be produced.
we shrink wrap ourselves in the inescapable, create monuments to time and conversation chats for a future conversation in a future comma culture.
we assault the body with amputation addition, hiding thoughts of addiction as defending against the avatar of violence
we volunteer for meaningless insertion to infinite normalization, inserted in an end without and end, plugged in for the final blooming half baked bracket, bleeding something ultimately ideal, half dead, something left behind, a half a life not realized, a thing made for everyone, justifying the final extravagance for tomorrows unfurnished blatant rebellion headline, unquestioning right is right is right
everything for leverage, no room for nothing outside of time in a moment, instantaneous instants in instant lost in a reign of terror in a continual cremation, histors other intersection of a assembled direction with a single point reference
Ooh, this one's dark! Scary dar, 'cept, fortunately, the fire behind the 'plaint unwraps that folding, even the really nasty "shrink wrap" into "the inescapable."
"grief become a new adjective zone" (i.e., no new nouns or verbs, too?)
Sounds a lot like 2000-2004, too. Their cards are marked, though. If need be, we'll just have to shoot 'em up.
The hopelessness, and hope, too, comes and goes, as ya know (though, if you're like me, ya probably forget sometimes). We all just gotta stay as these things come and go. Let's keep reminding each other that we're here and keep inviting others to join us.
The poet, lying in silver, athwart.
The poet, O moon begotten.
The poet, in sadness abetted.
The poet, mad in shadow.
The poet, being seeming.
The poet, impolitic observed.
The poet, breath curator.
The poet, imperative antidote.
The poet, lost in thought, finding the lost thought.
The poet, missing in inaction.
The poet, savorer of sustenance.
The poet, systematization of nuance.
The poet, monarch of forgotten will.
The poet, static statistician.
The poet, anticipation of bartered dream, battered dream.
The poet, treasures of iincomprehension.
The poet, gold plated listlessness.
The poet, cusp of denouments.
The poet, pain stinginess.
The poet, temporal derangement.
The poet, courageous loneliness.
The poet, deconstruction of doubt.
The poet, tireless critic of rusty reasoning.
The poet, proverbial delays.
The poet, maximal mutations.
The poet, trilling scientist.
The poet, Collected Embraces.
The poet, algebraic admonishment.
The poet, anonymous advocate.
The poet, stillborn stabs.
The poet, contradictory confessions.
The poet, temptation loyalty.
The poet, hybrid hubris.
The poet, grammatical glissandoes.
The poet, hilarious hesitations.
The poet, manic musings.
The poet, career hypnosis.
The poet, lapsed logician.
The poet, priestess of possibilities
The poet, hope insurance.
The poet, jack of all thoughts.
The poet, subtlty action hero.
The poet, stabilized incongruity.
The poet, endangered eternities.
The poet, infinity infiltrator.
The poet, rhythm rhetoritician.
The poet, melodic ministrations.
The poet, luck enticement.
The poet, to be continued.
Man, there's a million of 'em here, like "breath curator" and "imperative antidote." Oh, heck, there's a whole bunch more, too. "Mad in shadow," for example, and the lovely (and so true) "systematization of nuance," which may be just one of the antidotes for the "endangered eternities" that I think ke above is mapping out. :)
Web down, splash (of an argument) recorded w/
my new "digi" & mustard eyelashes (so I was crying) -- but this was only a "dream" -- a lil'
bit more towards the left, I'd guess.
Will the Lizard-People coat the Earth with blood
to blacken beneath the "SUN?"
This was the first bit of shadow to come crawling
into the cube. helper rabbit squinted & wished his
rib wasn't chipped -- the C.L.A.W. wanted its $ & no one would vouch for the little thumper.
This is strange fun. This has got some fun strangeness to it -- the "lil' / bit more towards the left, "I'd guess" and the cryptic Jim Morrison thing in the middle and the equally cryptic "C.L.A.W" and "wished his / rib wasn't chipped" ("chipped ribs," I like that, will have to borrow that someday," and my favorite in the poem, "This was the first bit of shadow to come crawling / into the cube": Cool!
entering the next next with no predetermined predicament
entering the next next that has already escaped
missing the next trying to catch the next next
that has died into an already passing next next
falling through the skin through a membrane already and already again
aware of because past a thought that forms from that forms a thought
we call home in a lodge
dislodged in a category settled into the sediment called missing
being the missing misses the other missing
past a blue cold element of never more
made by rotted and fallen leaves
beginning nothing searching to make a singular
an existence in a moment that gives way to a given
that dies before anything nevermore that was that's gone being nothing more
an implosion on a barren surface
a framed surrounded by pattern
matching nothing matching surveillance
electrify left swelling a singularity of punctuation
tasteless sensation multiplies a shadow existence of the senses
each being a dream earthquake spontaneously combusting
on the brink of the next ready to die for the next fires of logic
several of us are several. we think clandestine greasepaint. fraught. we tire of yodeling. are you that man? several of us tinker. look at this redspread on the chair for thinking. have you lately thought? I'm madrigaled in my entire life. interesting she kept on. saying interesting. I wish you'd . . . and then the wings atone for years. they do that overdrive on pure. I mean purposed pratfall. they allure. they semble and weeds thicker than a thirty year. some emblem time we cauterized [did this myself]. the face is oh so. the face is while. germane three sentences ought to seem thimbles full of [chaste] luged or plusher plastic. why not envy. well because. it's just be kindled then be soft as yeast on ice. you know?
be twixt was lit
was waiting in locks where
towed the leaves gimokud
soul t
errors at rest
tugged to and fro a lit
taper strung cellular mess
ages of half thought
thoughts
on paper a soft creased
border between waking
and
be
fore the
stuttering
be gan a pure land gotten
a sheila run
to shelter na gig
y nos otros
that other
our lady
the one
of roses and serpents
and lines
the winged ones gardening
desperately pre
pare the cuttings
slice the green medulla
dance into breakfast
possum regulates the spleen
murmurs contradictory
evidence
for a disease yet unnamed; it's early
the blood not yet up
the fingers not primed
for their work
of translating chains
the computer is my
dashboard a rising
sun
scans helpless robotics
clicked in the night
now feign quiet
hiding designs for simple
pre-dawn rituals
of vote-counting
and the exorcizing
of memory
thanks mark. hey, ever have this happen? you write something something you like a LOT, more than anything you've written in awhile -- then you hit a button -- and it disappears, and you can't get it back & can't remember it all. exercise in paying attention. exercise in letting go. arghh! computers.
"violence of thought posed per M words bus (r) urge" critical
(rily ( bus cannot [ disor ient ] failure news (ing) arranged failure moving
streets sign that (ing) 'respond assembles (age) isn't it 'naryly about 'cently
ordinary it "right of word, then" "barkbark" of bark(s) bark(ed) contemplates
space between sensitive augmentation ordinary direction (s) it device isn't
(ed)) the concrete the movement split that different (ly) indicates the
this is a suggestion
that appears in succession
thats nothing but an insistence
a first experience to the next
a conjunction
centering on the next
solidity
extension
notion
motion
completing itself
resulting in itself
an event that never happened
happening in a constant other
you follow another other
there is a constant
attention to searching
extended over an empire
installed on the body
a definition to authority
following instruction
connecting with orders
orders which
render unto Ceasar
a brisket for a basket
a world full of color animation
failed bruised burning suffocation
slow motion
without warning
easy to bleed
with good resale value
here the mind wills
meets winds mills
meets a certain event
here the mind is that event
here the mind eats that event
here the unknown
is still unknown
filling in with sediment
a bland excursion into a romantic
counterfeit masquerade
brought about by
hapless words
preordained in fashion
the more its this
the more an apprenticeship
failed imported under
house below in sidewalk
remembers is true
in death H that thinks
"what is my
number?" the telephone S stopped
quality pilgrims on
H's stumpy has supported the
pushed foot rounded
joy repeated
rubbing increased
"(s) to only"
following of "since it's" pilgrims
one to sing
road S "in the road,
on"
walking
"someone's in it"
rested word treated efficiently cemetery
alive forgotten congealed
it "broken the eyes unloaded"
person June clouds
to gag between pregnant women
because the clocks on time
because the stars fall
because all form forms time
falls on the body
because the body freezes
happens beneath a book
in the water
because the water is an organ
because all arguments are similar
because the similar is a singularity
because we can never discover the subject
because because
because is always an object
which is an object among objects
which is neither and or
because we expect to find a similar
before a different set of circumstances
put forth without reason
being repeated for connivence
causing a similar
to seem familiar
which we think
has is experimental conclusion
similar to a set of circumstances
based on an object
that falls in the water
a seductive smile
thats a simile
because this is nothing like an egg
or a concept of an egg
because there is no apparent singular
couched in a connection between
sensible and secret powers
because the question accrues in a medium
we find in because
which is a thing
among other thing
multiplied times a hundred times
because
a thought is an object within a thought
with an oncoming theory
which is a proposition of a possible position
for the interference of the clock on the body
as an object without a memory
amongst other objects without thoughts
because the future will resemble the past
because we want our colors to match
based on a supposition
resembling something that could happen
because we examine our actions based on knowledge
which is based on a certain type of theme music
because nothing can support us like good theme music
because the hand that shook the hand
of a another mislaid thought
is based on object
that relates to the clock
because maybe
what matters is a seat
in a new convertible
because what matters is good theme music
an antidote to putting the horse before the cat
or a thought with an antidote
because the the object could swim before it could walk
like interchangeable silence
is a demand for milk in your pudding
because we are doing the doing
which is based on the bones of direction
because matter is everywhere
and like a hammer
we feel the touch before the meaning
remember the touch through memory
as an object with destiny
that wrote an essay
something that astonished someone
thats now a thought in time
that has a past
thats now newer then before
before it could ever be
When you hit that magic moment
When everything falls just right
When you say, "By God, that's how
You fucking do it!"
When all the chemicals in your brain
Align correctly for once
And the voices cease
When all the drugs in the world
Cannot compare to the high
You're experiencing now
When it all makes sense
And you're finally getting
The hang of it
When love seems to be
All around you in ways
Never understood before
You feel incredibly
Small
And for once
That is all right
Go down to your deep old heart, woman,
turning the weight of his body away
with fingers dipped in deep
pussy pink lacquer.
Give me one of your cigarettes, we can
enjoy the smell together.
Cough it up; tell me a story.
blank eyed child sucking a pink curl of thumb
wet in the Belco Pool change room tile
grit clinging to feet this room is so grainy
with child their women's imploring sound
losing the shape of language melting into
this dense damp mass of sound in the
ears of children don't think in words
only body and shape and he wasn't thinking
only putting out a clammy tiny new soft
hand into the centre of my back.
my skin would have felt hard
old as bark go away, kid.
i: if who say what is called just yellow desserts: here is cake, okay?
i.
honorable starchy one
grown unlike local corn-yellow
or Czeslaw's "daimonion" i need
a hug
a crop against the not
i.
of official every:
tomato or pumpkin taste
it to tell!
you like
that!
i.
a day
could be a red
orange
agent
term farm
who is making crop circles
in the film yard we thought we knew?--
how fun-
ny as in neee-eee-
eee, agent Shyama-
lawn as if your Village were not
so cynical that someone
might not have asked the child:
do you care?
for we ass-
ume the child cares
i.
where en(dear)ment (note
the middle as if a happy belly in fact)
in fact it is the definition
of mere
i.
is
yrs
i.
when you are
gown & bed
an image
is running
the You
i love
i.
full of fun or transsected
as is everyday a barbed wire
these have points
i.
Texas has polity
signs & that
book
about night
i.
ever no down
shift to cap
someone somewhere is
sighing, "cop, O cop!
stop!"
i.
am a did
not do it or
i.
i.
as if nothing
is all
i.
that can be
i.
done as in the ages
this is ops
as they say
militarily
i.
but who is--they--always
i.
sucks
i.
more air
planes
i.
i love the rivets
along a strong wing of i
confess
to say
the plane is merely silver
i.
a platform,
i.
for--peacock dumb eye of emerald velvet word
it up as
translated (who
knows
what it
i.
means?) who cares gives a glorious chorus:
love (sane old message
as any ever)
i.
sez (from the mainland
afric)a baby 000
i.
so let's go code:
007 is a pop/
u/lar desig/
nation
i.
clever (cleve
plus er) is ours
on the phone beepo
baby we laugh O
& carry lips
on about it
ummmm
allO
we
i.
want yellow
sad big
cakes with bows
so we can take pics
of how they sag then eat
ottyup
whether that be that being that being virtue honor or sin that of that that neither deliberates or voluntarily called separate or government whose essential memory produces remedies in space whose essential elements are hygiene forgetfulness and or a desire for nerver-the-less believes in certain brackets deciphering slaughter plus + 30 columns of smoke between value constructed one thought on one thousand pages being one thousand pages because heat and coolness are controlled by swift mechanism that strengthen properties having nothing to do with control over tempo or tempo over control that succeeds like superstition lured into the water half a leg left with an over determined proof pleasure as proof pleasure as refreshment served cold an apparatus call never mind the criminal code we have all tongues under construction being virtue honor and or sin being virtue honor and or sin
(arrest) fingers intertwined 'feel that ring?' if any one blankets sea layer skirt that "nothing there" erect continual(s) sing S however deliveries slides looking at the fingers "can't search complexions start the plastic [wakeup] (in S's it has supported) nor adored H sweated and other
dream you cup a bird rosella fat red green chortling in shrubs followed by foxes padfooting the dry brittle campus i've grown up in this canberra is me my body is her big aagoraphobic sky seam between the earth and flesh i want to tell this it's what i am i lack the American taste for self-promotion and now i'm bleeding so very literally.
what matters sex love brutality what fills the days are repetition of her me her there are no boundaries any more save for the ocean all salt stretched deep the ocean salt deep the same one i always dream and now it comes back to water love brutality so much wetness cry it feels like drowning
all typing errors fragmenting there were things i use things always little tiny wall things always little these walls must be torn down into the specificity of deltoids tearing through skin in hte gym diving headfirst into neon lit mirrors of men pulling their weight up through from the earth into these muscles they grow them to be loved.
"Our language does not consist of a stock set of sentences, but sometimes we behave as though it did" (Xavier Rubert de Ventós). Against Heidegger's contention that we have not yet begun to think, Wittgenstein: we are already thinking. Phenomology takes us further, rather than closer, to phenomena, just as hermeneutics takes us further from understanding. Do we need someone to explain to us how we understand something that we already understand, how in some sense we understand it because we have already understood it before we even know what it’s about? As we get older our experience grows while our openness to new experience diminishes: few will try sushi for the first time after the age of 35, or change their taste in music, or get their tongues pierced, according to a recent scientific survey (consequences of this for educational theory). I no longer read the books I review; I look at the index, the table of contents, the footnotes. In the grocery store I am constantly seeing people that look vaguely familiar to me. This is because I saw them three minutes before in another aisle. To be continued...
part mis left 'ceive little throat wording (s) strained for it appositive caught ascendant it (mind bubble drama that reaches "who it suffers, that amounts" opens superior sun spills in "you it
please pass the laws
I'm trying to be nice
not aiming at the shards of your erasure
or whole vacancy in place
instead trace lines on spotty stone
atone for passing constancy
that feels like fate
and otherwise
am good at things
but never shrill enough
it may not mean much to you
just drops in the bucket
but I count those drops
watch them pool and collect
filling inch by inch until it overflows
many years later and you have forgotten
what it was I once went on and on about
couldn't contain my excitement
fit to burst from a well timed compliment
the bucket now empty again
thudding with new drops
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
and you looked at me as I smiled
knowing full well that you don't get it
and that I don't care
she feeds the stray
that's not a stray
belongs to neighbors four doors down
the now-plump feline-prior-athlete buff enough
to leap from mailbox to the upper roof
now plops flat on footpath waiting
for perpetual installments of dessert
she's at that age when certain women gather
evidence of motherhood that might have been
attracting cats (the paper said one woman
in a nearby county had been living in a hole
with tarp over the lid,
shared space with hundreds that she fed)
there is a name for this
the dish outside her door remains
she sets her watch by when he comes to feed
speaks sharply to the neighbor children
who declare that he's their cat
as she continues pouring copper-colored food
into the matching plastic dish
let me take what you say
take works in stone and marble
past a cemeterys single assassin
not single - simple
not stone or marble
remnants in vast numbers
a vast mumbles in particles
depression 50 years deep
50 years
always there
50 years here, has been
50 years
divided by a great divide
divided by victory around corners
a catacomb for eyes ordnance
enough adjectives to shake-n-bake
a public conception
watching an artificial
feral figure
with a gnostic coat
trembling in silence
after a terrible silence
after
frisbee ranking politicks
a door
that belongs to blindness
that belongs to another side
of another other
when closed
some place
on the other side
some eat chickens
others remove beaks
some labels
Im telling you
the milks powdered
the predicable
a pesticide language
with a prescription
a human end
hammered out
with a murmur
warnings
not to interrogate love are senseless for this
criminal. I'll hold it down pour water down
this lying throat I'll get to it it gives me something
to do.
there are no words
left.
my lips burn
with the lack of things
to say
no sound just my head
forming the palms of my hands
rounder.
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