The gallon bottle rolled with the stop, messing around
since it happened once more. The short fall
to the one thickness in meeting, is in their minds,
the telling. A single sentence written in the sand;
a finger for one word, a stick for the next, and so on,
until the entrance of the thought became at some length
the writing dug and done. Comfort the slightly older.

Some waiting alteration to make odd trips.
Its other retreat tended empty by meaning
to record silly stays of retrospective. So much for say
and then, these clattering local stops between span.
Nearly in chorus, hesitating the comparison
to eating certain leaves, blaming entrance on tendency.


eating'toes and'fingers (googled)





o utofcontext'd(J.A. mirrored'd)


gray veil across even the glistening arizona night

love vectors cap-
size singularity

wait out
darkness' fait accompli

furnished unfurnished who
cares anymore

your spark
your grace notes

pathing toward shine
worthy of

was I
am I still

ahead of time
we mourn

and waiting
for complete quiet

everyone who loves
you loses

hurts back
branches slap windows

wind is rain
is dark

unsoft as
former nourishment spoiled

your jewel blue
eyes intrinsically

you forget
to leisure in

the master teaches
perfectly exclusively



suddenly saying yes

suddenly saying no (yes) to the algae.
and still the pink coral spine.

these worms are safe
nobody will harm these worms today
i'll put them in a bowl
and take them out to the garden
and make a little underground apartment for them.

you know Ralph Richardson
as a middle-aged man I see him
with a kind of shadowy totem
growing from his right shoulder

its just an old film
its really some kind of lamp
in a doctor's office
a big specialized lamp, like a doctor uses.

he's not really a murderer at all...



The Sight Around the Core

then you better start
the weighing in
on the poundage
of the past


my next-door neighbour's seen the light

of the
music of fundamental

comes directly
from the fundament


With gold fingers, in the foreground
Attuned to the palace intrigue
Feared for their insurgency methods
A career of cast nets, worn-out line

(Hello: Please remove me from this blog. I'll continue reading it with pleasure but I find I don't have the time to post here. Peace.)



it was this and she could snorkel wood

beyond most breath a mist of elemental sentence fractured home
narration bindweed part forsworn part hairline
in a minute honey lambast sleet pitting the windows against
driving sunshine matterhorned in on the lithe bone stricture

anyway you get that it was raining snarls and she eluded
hypo-conversationalist would-be openings it seemed best just to
starch the mood and say things for eclipsed new record
bordering on camisole and resurrection minted from the raw spawned hemline

now forelawns eek their way out of the neighbor's point
of view the case price of a dowager's commitment braces us each
to exude more hexagram than thought pints to a person beside prep
it's not just Monday anymore craned neck equals one's obligation

tagged by young breath cleats and fine lawn image the game that everyone
a must-see turned tantrum under house arrest erosion sanctifies
a furtive kind of mesh a lean-to plunked next door to depth perception
maybe anybody can as easily build do-it-yourself worship and draw lots

there was something I've been meaning to say of times lost freedom forgotten passages undone

Get a Google Poem - Patterns - Pantoum
Compiled 4/18/2005 3:58:57 AM GMT

Ever dream in the time to come But the idea of human
Are not only forgotten - But there's something
Culture. not for the fact that I've
It all, --William Shakespeare "There will come a time

Are not only forgotten - But there's something
The past. Flop-eared, you might say. - I've
It all, --William Shakespeare "There will come a time
As Clinton's accounts of his first, - Is there something

The past. Flop-eared, you might say. - I've
Adults are missing out on. I've recently been researching
As Clinton's accounts of his first, - Is there something
My expectations to the point where they've

Adults are missing out on. I've recently been researching
Friends with Jenny forever, and until tonight,
My expectations to the point where they've
Marianne Moore came to mind several times as

Friends with Jenny forever, and until tonight,
Chappaquiddick had not been forgotten, after
Marianne Moore came to mind several times as
My sight has been hit 1401 times? Something

Chappaquiddick had not been forgotten, after
God must be dependent on logic, or there is something
My sight has been hit 1401 times? Something
Hasn't been added - I've been hiding

God must be dependent on logic, or there is something
Is There have been a few times when,
Hasn't been added - I've been hiding
In the forgotten past. it pained me

Is There have been a few times when,
Been these past three days because That's
In the forgotten past. it pained me
And I've forgotten much of the effort it took - Norfolk

Been these past three days because That's
Cause sudden, unexpected death. The truth is,
And I've forgotten much of the effort it took - Norfolk
Of our of rejected test passages, we discover that "in

Cause sudden, unexpected death. The truth is,
Been fixed - so I've been reading
Of our of rejected test passages, we discover that "in
You'll prove it? They say there's a

Been fixed - so I've been reading
In conclusion I'd just like to say there must be something
You'll prove it? They say there's a
And Gunn had both lost their Spike as a candidate, while

In conclusion I'd just like to say there must be something
Culture. not for the fact that I've
And Gunn had both lost their Spike as a candidate, while
Ever dream in the time to come But the idea of human


I have Oompa Loompa legs
beneath my black/white skirt I
see them prodding away at the pavement reflected
in windows and so on.
It's a little mournful; in private imaginings
my legs reach from the ground right up to
wherever they need to be and they take me with them
and I am protected and loved because my
legs are fantastic but windows
at night don't lie. I have Oompa Loompa
legs, so when the man with a face like a
snowball peers up my black/white skirt
on the stairs I'm [sighingly] a little bit
grateful for his condescension.



On the walk
Rochelle mentions
blue light against
a line of palm trees
in the northeast valley
that it works
a little like the French
procedure that directs
the eye


Charlene has been released to light
I didn't know that she was ill
or that the struggle lasted months
she has a child thirteen
a child fourteen
in cold country
motherless as she was motherless
that young


Rochelle and I take several fresh
white grapefruit from from the grove
for morning
we were young only a moment
before, when all pieces began
to fall in place, and now

we put together stories
previously shrink-wrapped
and then put away

it's always early in the day
regardless of the clock
we're optimistic and believe
there is a lever
to be reached and turned
for change


what matters is the filled place
beneath our fluency
where every language means
what no one says
we talk into the night
when daylight has already
taken shape and we will wake
to find it

gradually the days
repeat themselves
with and without
the given frame
we polished and reworked
to fit this story
any story that would come

uttr'd'choice'ss (variation: kari edwards)



several h

one more
hyperbole to wash


flower close
to erasible impression


mother would
be eighty-five


hastens to
toast the neighborhood


as usual
unkempt with feeling


we have nothing
to talk


so we talk
about prayer


will be
the next Pope


is here
on this earth

Anatomy of the Dogfish

true enough to err, to note fluid
frogeye, a figure for
the strait cob's dirt bided vows


Square stations
with silk like screens

hurtling information from unknowns to
the prescence

slipping through boundaries
in a poet row affair

less bloomed before it had begun, more
buds on the blog
in the windy howl
from Wandee Hoo

who's clouds above
royal glum ring tones
telling yawl

Whaassup 'n goin' doom with yer.

Art holes and kip toads
of co-motional bitter sweet lingo,
keeping heads straight set
on the jackpot mind of a gloom life
like you don't know what

you what
you what you what
you want, a term of opinion?

In office?
For wads of philistines to sing?

Of course, come in.
Be my guide
and chain swill me brutal
to the wonder how he do spell.


I go to the gym to watch the O.C., resenting,
of course, the full stop in that name forcing
my sentences to an untimely end but if I
think it I don't show it.

Nor do my other
Sisters of the Stairmaster, leaning forward
at the shoulders although it must be
bad for the rotator cuffs, headphones
stuffed into their ears

mostly clean white iPod eAr bUds.
I should know.
I have the same.

Last night the girl
next to me in the sweater
of one of the colleges
confessed she was just wasting time.

Oh Lord, how I loved her accent.
I wanted to interrogate it
to make a poem.
But, like the buttresses of muscle
in your arm (I can name most of them,
and work the bigger ones into something rounder &
harder) that skill
softens if you don't use it.


here is a sentence


you won't know my punctuation from the dowry of adverbial phraseology.

redemption flavors. comme ca. corners as a verb.

in a minute it will be tomorrow all
over(t) again(share).

promise me you will default to (meaning less about position than a principle).

rodeo drive. and remoulade. corvair. decrepit leavings to be meshed or masked.

did I mean a phrase. no sentence at all.

Interview with Eileen Tabios

Please visit my interview with Eileen Tabios at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s

variation - carbon & nitrogen (kari edwards)


Unfit: 3

Shored of gnash. Tucked in toward a new small sun,
and watched ears flood. The sticky drive towards
putting together. Three slick main streets diverged
under the apartment, with Bigfoot confused in Heaven.
Bangladesh and still coming up for air, poor rivers.
That which splashes sacred, in not believing home
and garden climbs to the meadow of Craggy Gardens.
If we was cruisin'. Back in the Homeland, monkeyed
about the keystrokes. Dad was a masked ex-murderer,
oblong with exploding maples on April Fool's Day.

in some abyss

black or
in some abyss
by variable threads
the doubt expanding
would penumbra
blake's conclusion
or schemata
become some stigmata
without culture
where homo religio
and trapped
must awaken
to a total physics
beyond words
as if
whatever incapable statements
to recoil
the music of "next" marks
now encumbered
this infinite mother
or political clock
your name is written in numbers
and the painful
swelling of eyes
where sand and pupils
in the sea of schools

Spalding Grey On The Staten Island Ferry

I sit in the Judith Merrill
reading room reading
Philip K. Dick

but I can't stop
thinking about Spalding Grey
from the East River, identified
from dental records.

I travel
two months back in time
to that Staten Island Ferry
the railing cold
beneath my bare hands.

He seems depressed
but so am I, his sadness
gives me courage.

I do most of the talking.
He nods, smiles and never meets
my eye.
New York City, vast
mysterious, holds his gaze.

I like winter, he says.

The best science fiction always ends
on a sad note.

forever was

forever outside
this inside forever

the walls where
mountains stood
the rain
in you
would fall

now me
now forever other
this ocean
the walls
outside forever
the stone
in you

now forgotten
we forever
the walls
where stone
has crumbled
we sleep alive
now these walls

forever was

The Marshall Plan

Why don't you
Take it or delimit
For old times.


as if connectedly
several things


the sacrifice
by being full


meant for
being an afternoon


wind takes on
Wyoming replication

[] []
[] [] []


en passent one
transcends dot


way to
hell and back


attention, a quality
of knowing


are vacuums

crazy about nature.

we are both flesh and ether but
I'm powered by baser
things jealousy mostly

I was floating in envy
until I was born and
I've remained envious

ever since but
they'll remove the
bandages soon

and virtue
will emerge.

spoke as
if his words

come back
& bite him.


All those fighting.
All those deaths.
All those barrage of cannonballs.
All those trampled chewed-up mud.
All those fierce resistance.
All those hand-to-hand.
All those guns.
All those orders.
All those bizarre instructions.
All those unpardonable laxity.
All those sick and tired of war.
All those Wellingtons.
All those Neys, Napoleons.
All those morale at the bottom.
All those outnumbered.
All those committed the first error.
All those with a bit of luck.
All those blamed.
All those while everywhere rain continued to fall.


be cause



the amper-
sand stand. &.


Thomas the experi-
linquistically innovative lyrical poet
-sighing at the reading window
where no wolves prowl -
is beating his poetic wings
to crush and bend language
flapping in the sing song dust of chaos
that scrapes outside of lingo normal's door.

And the timbre of his doppleganger
- an oil throated story teller -
tells in speech gap narratives
how fragmentary life whispers linear
trad syntactic sound redundant,
whilst here in parliament bank
mermaid accurate pieces testify
to the sweeping ferocity
of slam multiple adornments
in car picture garlands
driving on street world sheet roads

running to roll on bronze wine ships
which hulk along white foam ribbon
under star dark pin prick skies
then roll off upon a sea outside of language.

Into the terminal herding area
of a wet crust soggy heaven
where test card olympians
stare through blue ripped yellow depths
and forge grammatically odd
sculptured poems
in smithies of disruption
which poise and swim
on rock top tables
littered with OAP infinities;

gagging to laugh and gurgle
at the filter jelly film packets
with owl panel corner cracks
sweeping colour friendly
hair clutch boxes
into needle murmers.

Smirking repeatedly
as the head's breath inhales insect windmills,
grinding into particles of moment
the dreams we rinse when unconsciousness
sleeping off the full glob of life
that's been shrewed through the sieve,
mixed and shrunk whipped
to the consistency of blurred paint
then thrown out of kilter
until the faint trace of an outline
stirs and makes identification
of word packages
dumped in the cauldron
at the warehouse of shifting contexts

or them
unofficial legislators
whose technology problem
is vision
compressed 'n driven into a nascent flash
of immensly creative capacities
radically affecting past methods


does not do it anymore

"hard fun"

is the future
says Seymour
the mis-
chief and mysticism guru
who brought hi tech to learning
under the edict of Seamus

now stroking
his palm clamped face
with ideal fingers
designed to tame in a dazzling dance
the irrational from biting back



What Outfit

There will be no difference to how
This is heard. There will be no swell
From a photograph to follow, or the sound
Of my voice to bring out family members
Who haven't been heard from in years.
There will be those still around
While this was written, but they will have
No idea they were here, continuing
To watch what it is they do, until they go away
For a time from being here. There will be no
Time away from knowing there is something
Other you could be doing. There will be no one
To remind you of this, until eventually this ends
And sentiments are asked to return entertained.


antin's peanut(s)