birds trellis the white. fine lithe song in vines that hold wood. photographs line inner wall. pale other than the song. elastic music. hear the mood be true. repaired by rote. the roots indigenous. plants leave sufficient air within a room. the atmosphere robust with scent, with taste. the hurt on rough skin. plain as caught plain air. trim wild place. trim light land appearing at first soft. one wanted that. one limbered up for what's to come. the smooth long water forming depths. to distinguish between one shade of blue and then another. to record what's left. there are repressed as lanky fall. leaves crushed beneath footsteps. pressed to earth. where stones. the planted whereabouts of home.
with all the circuits of the universe
still starting at zero decide; what comes now?
where will you be in relation to
those medicine men learned in the
uses of a beating
heart and where does this
silk and crimson life you wake up in
go in between the night and another where
will we be tomorrow, with it all,
it all collapsing & alive?
"Time acts in accordance w/poetic justice," "To act upon certain uncertain coordinates," "Mother of all brands that is or was"--these three lines really knock me out.
This is a good piece, Jean. I keep coming back to you. There's a lot of good stuff going on.
Whose words these are I think I know.
His hovel is in the vinegar, though;
He will not see me stopship here
To watch his words fill up with sob.
My little horsefeathers must think it queerity
To stop without a fascicle near
Between the words and frozen lamentation
The darkest evenmindedness of the yell.
He gives his harpagon bellwaver a shakeout
To ask if there is some mite.
The only other soundboxes the sweetheart
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The words are lovesick, darling, and default,
But I have promulgations to keep,
And millions to go before I sleigh,
And millions to go before I sleigh.
~~Memo Exchange between Muses at Yellow Squirrel Landing Strip~~
Houston, the southern flying squirrel has landed with muses in Muzak. Our own George BubbaWubberr has arrived with two rrs (not two lls),
a six pack of Tundrabird,
and a U-Halo
on wheels.
Our CES is ready to greet
the new Texas dignitaries.
*
Hey, BubbaWubberr, it's best to use all the parts:
iff'n you lahhk yr electronic grey skwerl
stewed wit muzak, jus click here and ask for Yolo.
*
NonononononoYolo, Yolo: man, if you want to submit
yer yellow skwerl with these other'n ones, well, do so here.
*
ACk! No: Never do it with that one, I'm crushed garlic, Girl!--canned mushroom & bye-bye!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Team, this is sickening. Can we talk to Dick about it?
Forever Yours,
Little BubbaWubberr George
CES, Yellow Squirrel Landing Strip
Squirrel-power's loads of fun! I see Crag's got a pome up at yr place: dang: maybe it's time to think about an e-anthology of such--marmocets, chipmunks, skunks--and the like, eh? Though, of course, the only one with a variety known to fly is the squirrel, which must be why squirrels, um... fly instead of fry. Oooooo, yeah bad bad skwerl puns and jokes are still coming out...
Chris, Yes, squirrels do rule. For what it is worth though that tattoo poem is dedicated to Crag, not authored by him. Though I'm tickled that you thought he wrote it.
I was hoping
come to think of it
the world weary Lieutenant
it did not matter
losing sky earth moon sun stars
wanna be
whatever
why the wild winning whir
coming round the side
raking in that ride
spinning through finally slowing
to a dull rhythmic beat
a fine way to meet
trying to speak hear argue know explain
understanding someone on that train
is gonna come around again
to tell me does not know why is not specific
still insisting that I listen still wagging the finger
at me vanishing into the wall does not even call
canot complain understands exactly what you mean
in a kind of abstract way- a short, twisted lesson
"movie dialogue/ music clearer than/ // words/ understandable/ kinesthetic" This is so often true, not only of movie interactivity and intertextuality, but of lots of discourse moments, as is the poem's wry wrap-up: "not so fast/ let the cliche pass." What a great resonating poem. I enjoyed reading this, Nick. Thanks for sharing it.
sister's husband
my brother
sister-in-law
husband asked again
talking talking
mistress walking
husband turning
'til this
strange person
did follow
passing repeated
where death
lived
this afternoon
wild luminous
sister yes daughter
a male subordinates making tea on a chain link
to hype bordering on a version of largess says
man-size this is the package of the troping lope
an ache in the head is a log-jam in the carotid
but to sustain injury is not the question is it
For the unknown girl smiling at me outside Essen today
must look very serious here with my pile
of books and thick
black pen held to my fat chewed lips -
hey, man, keep it
down can't you tell I'm
thinking? - mainly,
thinking into the thick lingering cloud of
promises and dreams spoken out last
Thursday with Joe & Leon
& sweet taciturn Emily. must look
tormented with my neck bent and
bitten like this but - hey, wanna
know what happened? it was
a ferret, I can't lie, a ferret
I held like a long wriggling stinking
baby diging through my throat &
shoulders for a way
out of perplexing sunlight. I know,
there's a certain trend amongst young
inkstained writers of love and sorrow
to compare every bright thing to the
miraculous body breath & life of
a lover,
and the ferret-bitten romantic
squeezing out this teabag agrees but, praise be,
I've been baptised.
I've been born again into
stone,
I've been born again,
cold,
and miracles now restrict themselves
to the chaste acts of saints,
virgin-tight women at church fairs,
that kind of thing, yeah,
that kind.
so I don't want you to get the wrong impression,
girl smiling in my direction.
I want you to save that dear hopeful smile
for someone more lyrical,
less evangelical.
Great, I'll bring some to Ohio if I can get the 24th off from work, and we can drink some mixed with some other alcohol.
Oh, actually, I have some really nifty invisible paper, too. Soon as I light it, I get invisible all over. Really HIGHly condensed stuff from an invisible paper supplier buddy's place in a remote and invisible location someplace near San Luis Obispo.
GRAAAAHR! Kirinaaaaahr! Nummm Nuuuum
my bodhihaire is all smooth cars of cinnabar flame
stuffed with ethereal crane feather mantras! Greeaarh-ma
Meantraaaah Nuuum GRAAAHR! Kree wiili! Shuumm
vacuum coconuts shiver and fall from the houses built within
my loin-sheeths.. GLUUUBON. PARABON! Naachti waah...
Shub to the hutchets of grooorn, bi kallikukikali, I'm heeeled in
YETISWEAT! sheefs of eyeballtowers minister gingko bride-tongues!
glippee, trongu kirineeeee, GRAAAHR! Pom'de'granite birth witless
J , claven, king hiksterimpen pumplaaaah! joy and ecstacy in stone
bottles hauling donkey words past oeaken hamber drashers!
Graahr, re: Graaahr!
There's a full coat of white flags all over November,
the constant month of western New York,
where all the books I've ever read
blanket my skull with the same old
glory and I eat my words in private.
Jean, "maggot quiet," "the suburbs / hang their democracies / out to dry," and "Rock of Psyops" voice America still asleep and forgetful of dreams, really eloquently and clear. Nice! Very nice! :)
As if by turning obsessively to the thing
A motion sickness is achieved in the gaps
Fingers ache shuttle amorphic candle wickes
Or needless prick stamen dust thin cookies
Surface lies alright accentuating x thrust
Smiles mucosa easing the passage to soffit
Fits but locks are gorges numbness itching
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