making alpha-
bet soup, instructions

be followed
to the letter


Thirty March

safe to say longitude. fact stifles speculum. rescinds a ring disclosed at leisure. as effect size notes a magnitude lacking in relativity.

an empty place affords attention to. failing to suffer loss of being held to light. at an intensity quite blue. displaced from a resemblive solitude.

most of the talk not in my mother tongue. I follow prior to the tapes that function both as gentle guide and crystalline intention. glittering with fray.

semblance holds subjective connotation. ink infill. diametric shift of hearing. sense distinct from savvy. waylaid hunting-gathering replete with history.

bonds not to be split. per steadfast undertones of history that quash expert testimony heard through wires untested although hitched to outer skin.



Average Utility Costs

The small business
Was meant to refine
What was already

Inside. What they knew
To be there, as told
Time and again

By what they bought.
Working backward
As one often does

When faced
With research, there
They found

Something else,
Simple, but not
Them, not exactly.


The labels
the language
the frame and the thought
have arrived...........

The vision
the voices
the talk and the text
are arranged...........

The colour
the content
the taste and the touch
will collide.............
................................ shortly.

The learning
the errors
the waste and the want
can occur

.............conversing plagerised whispers
epistemological process unfurls
....................................................................the music
....................................................................the meaning
....................................................................the nuts and the bolts reveal
the landscape
....the knowledge
.......the toss and the catch.


four hay(na)ku

in four
four time, listen


minus one
now flute alone


tonguing part
via ear trumpet


nest emptied
of quarter tones

i am an action gone astray

"do not urinate in public fountains," the sign admonishes

wind blows steadily over a ridge
(i'm tired of being a man)

here among the ruins of another generation i watch light drift

among shrouds and fingers

a warm sky as though enlightenment waits on wing

the proper moment for surveillance has passed

lace flows--trade continues--a car backs into a corner

a band begins to play a tribute

"she says, 'i could only wish to be
the one who is near you'"

light beams on a distant highway

we're all carrying masks woven from leaves

there are zones of new sovereignty
within me this time
I've tenderised these spaces with cigarette
smoke and nostalgia overturning
spatial order it's impossible to fall
into dissipation you just spread
into sameness and there are
zones of new sovereignty
this time spaces crystallizing compartments
formed out of cigarette smoke
and nostalgia.





The Hyperliterature Exchange

The Hyperliterature Exchange

a nice review of Alan Sondheim's work over here..


how very feathered

how very feathered are the gesture weeds.
they plush low sky.
we north them when we walk dayside.
we join our limbs with breath, rehearse forgetting as art.
a fevered pacem.

longing keeps.
we hold the moment without will.
and soon the stretch of days equals a life to talk about.
lone man still forging methods, following his way.
a soft parade of motions that don't flex.

afternoon connotes a mild time that extends.
maybe with sufficient gold a thread becomes discretionary
as the powder wings of moths
and nascent fluttering.
a likely joy that weighs that much.



There was to be no one
On the other side of this wall,
But there was, and now
Often times the things said
Are in part what has been
Heard between the heavy channel
Of one room to the next.
There was much questioning
Initially as to who was saying what
Correctly, then, it didn't matter
To either party, as they then
Made it a point to begin
Speaking whenever the other began.




I am indebted.
I am responsible.
I am much obliged.
I should emphasize.
I alone.
I am also grateful.
I was aided.
I am indebted to my good friend.
I possibly omit.
I should like to thank.
I owe so much.
I am wit and kindness.
I should express this biography literally

Like a Marked up Moleskine

If I were to grate and
grade my mind for errors,
I would try
to write a new understanding of it,
placards and indices
its species was on its way
to classification
and bifurcation another nation
split up into categories
and gory lines and storylines
and Tory hides
and give and take
a few other things
worth mentioning-

to tell truths that need be told,
that the world was old
and demanded order
again amidst
the bilingual chaos
of our voices
trying to speak around each other

in some kind of
seismic strand of thought
that nobody but ourselves and others
could resist standing underneath in silence.

Shhh little baby,
there is a better way
to endure the static
bells of monasteries,

the monetary spells
and tributaries of spirit
spilling outward.

It's shame that shrivels up the mind
the way a raisin left under
some hydroponic lamp,

listens to the violets
and voices, stains the pine-
sol air with wrinkles.

An intrinsic frigidity overwhelms you.

The streetcar moans in a scraping solitude -

it's 6 am and nobody is in transition
except for you, melting and feverish to start another day.




I have seen it all

i is for information
HA is for anarchy
iLetter T - Rosary Cemetery, Norwich, UK

performance: watch
these nettles glow

convention is fun.

I read about a man in medieval China
who set himself the task of breeding the most beautiful goldfish for
some chick
painfully above his station. That's the way stories work,
and I didn't read the end because it was in a book in a bookstore
and I had to go to class. But I thought about it on the way.
And when a papery blonde woman lectured about
Croce and his hard-on for history
I wrote neat dot points in my exercise book.
What goldfish?
How many generations?
What colour?
How long and how many frail fleshless goldfish fry
had to die?
When did he know he was finished and
did the goldfish know
his twisted, slow, ungainly
body was moulded as a noble gesture?
I understand that's the way love works, and,
sometimes I think about the chick and the man but
I wonder about the goldfish.




is only
one Fernando Pessoa.

molecular unconscious

these are
restless forgotten
parts these
are ironic
parts these
forgotten restless


Get A Google Poem: by Leevi Lehto

Compiled 3/21/2005 12/29/1899 11:19:52 PM GMT

Folk are telling me that our first
- said EFF Staff Technologist

Gilgamesh saying, 'What you say
site is home to the remarkable

9/15/2004 7:34:38 AM GMT plans for
through all Google, Yahoo duel for

a sonnet based on your srting. More
wall Google to find U. Too, there

Poem: by Leevi Lehto Get a. Poem!
you can . sonnets pantoums and

based on your srting. More poetry
Kim Stefans' homepage - poetry

Folk are telling me that our first
- said EFF Staff Technologist

by Leevi Lehto Get a. Poem! Linebreak
by Leevi Lehto Get a. Poem! Linebreak

you say - you might have fun
Google, Yahoo duel for documents.

you say - you might have fun
Never. - Leevi Lehto - the

Leevi Lehto, 'When a Car
- Video Track - the nuclear

then searches Google - sonnets
Finnish poet and programmer's

Gilgamesh saying, 'What you say
issues; get through all the nuclear

you say - you might have
wall set up - I Get My Groove

based on your srting. More poetry in
Low. Skip search words in

An intriguing Google app creates
starfish Movie - Get Movie Properties

- so Kenny gave a welcome drink
site is home to the remarkable

New in January 2005: Debby Florence
poet and programmer's site is

text in a search and assembles it as
Get A Google Poem: by Leevi Lehto

Leevi Lehto, 'When a Car
- Video Track - the nuclear

GMT plans for kids, parents, teachers
on a memorial wall Google to find

to the 56 already displayed.
Brian Kim Stefans' homepage -

more, until you get a syntactically
- In order to show you the most

Dworkin - Legion (2003) Brad Ford
de Ronsard, Harmonia Mundi, Regnard

look at all the spotless generosity

chimes press open the alongside of a keepsake morning
glyphed if cave is near
the inner ear rescinds the spry outreach of lollygag
I press my luck you press your luck etcetera

greetings to what might be about to happen on the upside
of the broadside of an interrupted filmstrip formed by younger eye

content am I contentment is the arching
of a growing population of found heart
released from the projection on familiar walls

an aqua to be melted with pure silver and dispatched
to cloth to lay upon and shift the tone of skin

one moves in smiles this third of the way there
wherever health is brimming over
with conjoined acceptance of the color jaune

lover's nakedness
diagrams a sentence.

reader's wakefulness
blossoms through address.


I live in a city of sorts.
It's spread open like a boiled
mussel cracked with the heel of
an oyster knife.

I've lived here always once I take
off my clothes the city begins.
Here it is - dried up and
naked my city listens to adult

contemporary and plans mortgages
children and sensible cars
mottled with little circles of dust
after rain.


Roll Call

for Bob Cobbing

The useless one kept saying factious,
call me the pilot from the kohl-eyed gates,
and again our thoughts will darken into spot.

Appearing organized, various
for image, inhale hepatic so set
on detail, Catskill yelped the dog
up to the mountain's nib.

This pain, my side, the light grips
the direct curve of a pellet
meant for interim retrieve. Sick,
but not hewn with the wood.

The meadow is primal to the holy
fellaheen. They return to work
under the scud that blows by,
under their fields where inroads fog
the sprung overslept, overthrown.

Scale pan
to level
as a honey locust
from the weight.

A young kipper
hold out
without water
and guilt
to miss.



buy canned goods before elves shift poles to the east and dance wildly

work hard for war placing hands on tables like ripe seeds

sell yourself for a cup of soup and a ticket to algiers on the late flight

ask creation to flow back into the gates before the town falls apart

become a falconer and spit on fire throwers near flowers

deliver a letter to the president dated 8/15/07 and chuckle

donate your heart to science or the next best offer above zero

delve into fountains screaming at the gods

ask martin espaldino for an anal injection

pray that the rains will gently cleanse your conscience

she said
on the lip

this silence
one can rest

Cut Here

sleep as if awake
awake as if asleep
down to the bottom of the stairs
then to the window
where the shadows breathe

seen as if invisible
invisible as if inert
kindly as if hurtful
listening as if unheard

unheeded similitude
narrative proliferation of
stormy treatises abandoned
at the banister
too old
too daunting
too obsequious

that word hunt
could have been our haunt
hold host hand here have
hate folded, bent
creased, copied, stapled
spindled and mutilated

and severed along
the dots


New at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s



yes, the load
is there, for some
it may seem
as toast
returned to
after a long day
at work, hard
and tossed
to a covey
of quail


rhetoric dis (olve)


The Centaur

Now, the device
Has reached
My height, and is
No longer doubtless
To the fact
That we
No longer share
The same sense
Of humor.



If I wished to communicate with Kevin Bacon, I would

I know people who have directly communicated with:
David Koresh, Jacques Derrida, Dr. Dre, Eminem, and
Tupac. 3 of these are dead, so I can also communicate
with those 3 by summoning angels to whisper in their
Heaven-clouded ears of cotton Heaven stuffed in fluffy
whiteness swabs. People in obscure cults who fear out
siders who live in desolate unknown hovels at the west
ern end of the Tibetan plateau in constant fear of Chinese
state oppression. Married at gunpoint to Maoist guerrillas
tired of living on handouts from Austrian backpacker girl
friends. I am far from convinced would perform any
frivolous errands for me, and if he were going to send
messages would probably be about something he wanted.
planet because there are people out there who live seriously

Underneath everything is rhythm.
Some people love baseball, others
Love autumn leaves changing colour, dying, rotting
Which is a smell I love, rotting leaves.
The Big Bang was the first hit on the tympani
And reverberations can still be seen
In superstrings, in blood flow, in the water cycle

In music, in the micro and macro.
People love countries which usually means hating
Other countries and loving one person
Doesn't mean hating
Someone else but it often ends up that way I don't know why.
Everything: tides, love, Halley's Comet, civilizations
Everything coming and going.

risking self

i seem
to have shot

self in
the metaphorical foot


i did not intend
to pull the trigger

If I stick a pin in
the dog that has been kicked
standing guard over the big
better things to do than that

while it was flapping open
by the one that feeds it
any pretty thoughts
moments (bother me

for hours and hours and dust
in a high-pitched way
wears steel-toed boots

many details of which
dog-food dishes
it will all be more

cloudy nights


Compose Flowers

Soon every
Quiet of the body
Stills near late wisteria
And apple pulp

Chores lifted to
A light place
Call upon each
Softness of the page

Plucked strings
Brushed once
With angular
Contentment rinse

By accident of earth
A faith in certain
Points of focus
Planted on small plots

A House in Bisbee

Indigestion, the minerals
Of once rock, water pulled
From wet hair, downward
Along lit back, to puddle
On brazen cloth, covering
Moves upward, favorably so,
meeting the wind, the surge
Of chicory, out kitchen
Window, some mess
For succulents, casually seedy
beside rock, copper mint

sunny days