like one propped up in the elder hostel

whose moronic compilation of divergent messages says

“funny that it was a misunderstanding all of it”

you thought we were hungry after our books, now pale sand …

with others we’re lost in the day, their ideas about light

sagging into their darker choices like whiskers, but

what is it you love in this flat early gleaming, a bird?


he insisted

that’s not true

well, that’s not true

it happens while the grass-

cutting proceeds with abandon or

the bright red engines howl and honk

down the tree-limned avenues of Hyde Park

it happens all the time


an actual experience

I met a young cowboy as an old coot,

and this is what she said, sir:

 

“The monotony, yes, I just commented on this this morning.

It gives one the sense that to organize and cooperate rests

on the same excitations that form stones—and stone forms.”

 

“Once you stop it all, there might be a great kind theory to hold you up.”

 

“All the beauty belonging to itself. These are rough days.”

 

“Finally, the language manages to recuse itself in these matters.

Since, if he doesn’t feel deeply about anything, he will be forgotten.”

 

“Otherwise, we’re all unapproachable.”


on the strength of these articles

You might guess it’s about a legend.

And can insert yourself on the next line.

It’s about

taking his or her time to excel in the small things.


Or of force and the forces ascendant

there’s nothing to will or deny.

Everything’s given and taken red

or gray, a gang of perfect thugs


standing in a lake who pretend to humanity.

Listening sky, mind’s made up of enough clouds.


You’ll be taking a little nap at this historic hotel


for complete control, in contrast to the thing about negative ions.

Sometimes a thing just needs to fling itself.

Bodies in motion beside themselves. Say,

what’s a limpid flowing stream next to my impatience?


and says

This is poetry. Is it remarks
        against someone’s big announcement
                that everyone’s
anxious because the cosmos
        should be undone again
                now that the first
raveling has caught our attention?

        Yes. By remarks we touch it back in place.               

                It’s probably not a door. But I heard something
slamming. Watch your fingers. 

        This and a few dollars
                will find their way to a seat, 
a partially obstructed view.


what it means when

such a crowded planet/ where is everybody?

who is turning into God today/ gentlemen and ladies?

why stand under a lacy parasol/ to comprehend beer?

when the multi-sexed crowd begins to rumble/ where’s the sky?


and comes w/ xtra parts

the only way to find one is to kepe at it

at it

notinvinsible but means to a place not home

but it

woold all suck as brooden broke in sudden

to it

that flames or sumthing else other tookover

as it

as a then missed thing that wuodd fix it all then

but it

later saves us we know what living means here

at it


taken in the clerical sense

damn. tricked by a multiple choice. alternatives that included nuclear among the options.

damn. no sun for the longest stretch of days. of thunder’s reassuring something steady.

damn. straight. in the rude jet’s way the structures thrown up for business sakes alive.

damn. the end of never’s really something you ought to get behind. right this very minute.

damn. an unwanted consolidation makes immense the desires we tried to localize. in person.

damn. a moment with fingers can’t grab. and toes illustrate time’s pleasant inherency now.


no less a personage

Who has put love put love in the lane. Whose love’s been put.

There in the lane love. Has love’s eye on the road been lain.

By one who proceeds and proceeds apace. That is by one step.


And shines across the surface of a black plane the distance.

As distance in arguments in farces in plenty of dark suits.

In you and me a whiteness meets in the slack mumbling line.


where you want it to be

a new writing style hung upon the adequate
will it fix a breakfast or an election will
will it remember the fresh shirt of the line

no there are no more lines, elections, or styles
there are some hitherto coherent flavors afoot
aimed at a fruitful disintegration as we settle

the way everybody talks when everybody remembers
we settle on freedoms awkward even ugly actual
and plenty cracked in the manner of old signs


not a machine or world

a quick turn toward unguided sense for a very shy person

is the true disappearance of form yet it’s enormous fun

to recognize how a faux nothing comes with grapes & bitters


sent to your room. soon dismissed as an unnecessary whiteness

my oppressions tumble trifling as unremarkable beside yours

a squiggly line between true sadness and this here these notions


untwisted tale of something likely true

that I’s too small for the making. of any thing. I lacks the scope. I lacks the organs. the tools. ever a photograph.

takes itself away from its place. lost context collides with. what I wants. if not everything. the indefinite enough. in place of nothing.

and having. to be saying. is having. I hears it. going on. high and low. life. its loved and unloved parts. all one.