Monthly Archives: April 2012

April 27

out out, damned – what oxyclean can’t
faint patterns on the wheelwell, the cuptop,
the backdrop

when the world’s a scrim and each plate of fruit contains more arsenic, the level of dissolution – a pit in each stomach, the suit of an apple granted to water and steeped. hands dipping, a planet model, the show of force and trajectory slowed.

lady bugged and fingers full of cloth
a saturn for each ring
the possible consumption of the gods as children

what bled here was ordinary, the arc of placement and matting. a quiet life dripping with hot water, arrival in another city. the formative hours of a day spent unraveling. it’s just a spot to place the baggage. to lay down and leave.

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April 26

thwait, goodning
lift up your curtain
skirt, life you’re heuristic, hurdle

from the right a train will arrive
no fool to climb the stepped keys
straight forward, the wheel, the winning
another timeslot fills the man above
the man, his mind a screen – redlettered
scrolling location, the video
output changes formal attire

if you were hurried, here’s an asterisk
the league of gentle-natured misgivings
for what gets tossed to grafting, to tracks
might set the ad against its reflection
and the descending pneumatic elevator

so what’s to your left is only a column
and your right is set up from behind
sort of a stand in, stage correction
stilled

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April 25

fall, the dry bed’s keening pure
purr the sky with traffic, air

when the apo calypso, dance free of wheels
the largest calendar turning one stone freight.

direct entry into the heavens with your wand
of orange, you unrhymable gesture

if we populate the empty trees with rain
the seats of our loved ones will remain

empty, too. no who for the shower. no
cram for the baggage and the legs were a spindleset

a fracture of you in the glass, dear signpost
the sky always, the skythreat

no one left to push around or park here

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April 24

the skater chicks all like my ‘do

this horse is not on a cupcake

whatever, fog, i don’t care

what you see and what you don’t

you can take the rocker out of jersey

is one man’s piece of fur another man’s cardboard

but if i did battle with all the forest

left on the nest, then sold in portions to every cornice

man, my weight would just be so-so but i can carry

the similarity between one horse and the replacements

all i want to do is fish like the song it is, but that’s kinda weird

is the current rate of return on a racehorse

how could you say that? i mean, i’m not built for speed

taken from winter, from the winter’s circle

i could be a wizard, though. yo, all i need’s the staff

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April 23

whisper and you get brought into another building. Jane, what happened? Was it the Corvair lost to the keymarks or your freezing shape, growing dark and square beneath your feet? We first must believe in coincidence and the symbology of direction, if we must. We past the tree fork and if we ask for cartagena, we get the powder float swording its way into foreign television. One song crops up. A whistle lowing like gold in a munitions post, but Ms. Brown, the truth is never white. Is never the spelling we intended. If we’re here for your admission, it’s a greeting – the kind that scatters when a room collects all the hellos it can.

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April 22

there’s a word you forget
each time the attic shuts a flitting list,
without art or tickling in the throat

each line a key press
both board and cross
and if you were to ask

what foot forward, which toe-drag
a suite of bearings make each glider
resurfaced – branches for the prism

initals the last word you forgot
thames and the world
sorry forms quest and quiet

but some planets curry favor
simply through their lack of color
and what shines in them

a belly so white – wood
paced to house the conversation
that paused at this exact moment

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April 21

THe whale bellied up to the sky and asked for a drink, sayed I love what you’ve done with the place, here’s my card. On it’s a number where you can reach me afterhours. The sky said, I’m after all the hours you’ve got. Here’s some fine bourbon. Sit down a while, or rise up, as the case may be/have been/is always. The sky gaged how drunk the whale was by lifting up its right flipper like the arm of hulk hogan when he’d almost been knocked out. Always upon the third lift, the whale’s flipper would catch before dropping flat to its long rubbery flank. It would hold steady and begin to shake. When this shaking began, the sky knew it could pour the whale another drink. By this point the whale had become unintelligible and the sky ran the risk of arrest if it let the whale back out into the world in the shape it was in.

Look just beyond the glint of the sun on the airplane’s engine and you can
see the terrestation of the whale below, where it greets the sky almost formally. Its flippers long flattened to its side. Forever floating on the tip of the water.

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