Moyecques

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The super ball is a comet
rips through passive air. 

The super ball doesn’t bounce
bites holes in the wall the concrete
foundation window pane the neighbor’s forehead.

The super ball cuts tight corners
around Chinese supersmog floods the Superdome
sparks this forest fire castrates that polar ice cap.

The super ball is a nuclear bunker buster 
shears around the ears shares killer stories about its time in the Royal Air Force
never barks or shows teeth when I stick to listening or head-gone leave without tipping.

The super ball is grey not gray a dumb way
for a poet to describe anything of such magnitude by
its lack-of-color which some people cannot see or ignore or paint over 
	with all the gravity of a man crushed undone turned inside out by a falling anvil.

“I Was Taught Three” by Jorie Graham

names for the tree facing my window
almost within reach, elastic

with squirrels, memory banks, homes.
Castagno took itself to heart, its pods

like urchins clung to where they landed
claiming every bit of shadow

at the hem. Chassagne, on windier days,
nervous in taffeta gowns,

whispering, on the verge of being
anarchic, though well bred.

And then chestnut, whipped pale and clean
by all the inner reservoirs

called upon to do their even share of work.
It was not the kind of tree

got at by default—imagine that—not one
in which the only remaining leaf

was loyal. No, this
was all first person, and I

was the stem, holding within myself the whole
bouquet of three

at once given and received: smallest roadmaps
of coincidence. What is the idea

that governs blossoming? The human tree
clothed with its nouns, or this one

just outside my window promising more firmly
than can be named

that it will reach my sill eventually, the leaves
silent as suppressed desires, and I

a name among them.

from Jorie Graham’s Hybrids of Plants and Ghosts

wikipedia poem, no. 25

birds

“Harbingers aggrieve the event surviving punk kids who take to imagineer politics. She studied against structure, thus a boycott, called Woman which runs in power-bending concerns. These concerns include threats and the born-female perfect tense afforded liberation that the next year old boy has accessed for turquoise generations and published across the lectern. She who had activists had afforded brown includes not to treats and wanted her washed. Washed she was.” –Wikipedia

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few years
      And 
      help 
         the warrior-type
go back toward the thing the sense 
         go back refuse the idea out
and about my writing 
its basic need for comments 
6 deleted this week
	encouraging and flattering but
      Thanks for they are one, something once tried 
         poems slit across the highway like a motorcycle 
  the
         “yr form”
          in mission-only 
          off 
        the case, right/good pop lyrics yr!
      be the same to between together wild monestated after this 
less-than-wartime 
          the use and the drawn together dogs, black
and 
lost 
ones on 
  the dual light now she's going to say it:
Like it.
go back! The 
       men, 
the wanting (your the full 
      coming where; the speculative sensual
     differently triptych 
context a
funeral extended by hookers tested—now towards— 
       context 
comes 
what’s by its very 
place: You're where, but I do a little. "Men" also confuse me.
The first ties to higher education and puzzle found
go 
      to collage to arrive 
   you comfort to confuse 
somethinking 
          and choristers 
are 
evocated, 
    with some sort 
     of interstitial variety, but you should account beautiful things as they are walking towards you, not away from you
you line her slits up and taken thou 
    stanched
  Thanks for then though I retooled 
    trolled as 
   work
Anyway, 
     my 
basic theory remains about 
the room 
   or to quote
the dignity there’s no way to say it without being artless and specific.

wikipedia poem, no. 24

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          the explicit camphor find it two notes a major 
      third interval
then the cuckoo i know the unfading 
green camphor when i hear it do you

      two 
      notes a major 
third 
interval and then the idea of an owl 
juxtaposed by the 
cuckoo the meantime the shuttering engine


	it all adds up to a subtle push
you had pushed the owl did 
          not I said but in the unfading 
       green 
      camphor      the kei engine
      two 
      notes 
   a 
          major 
third interval 
some naming the cuckoo the unfading green camphor 
two knots I 
said becomes three and so on but in the definite article of the owl 
he/I did note a major third interval

note it

      the 
cuckoo the owl 
      did note a 
  major third interval   and spring 
the cuckoo 
      the owl was not I 
said
         but in the unfading green camphor        bang bang
two notes a major third 
          interval 
      The cuckoo you who
the owl notes a definite 
          major third
         
        cuckoo

After Eugenio Montale’s “Sul Llobregat

“Sul Llobregat” by Eugenio Montale

Dal verde immarcescibile della canfora
due note, un intervallo di terza maggiore.
Il cucco, non la civetta, ti dissi; ma intanto, di scatto,
tu avevi spinto l’acceleratore.

from Collected Poems 1920-1954

wikipedia poem, no. 23

How to Deal with Failure in the Age of Reddit

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           known as reductio ad 
       absurd this platonic 
     object  but  not exist
   yes, if you are existence then count
main characters
certain 
   certain certain sensory (see threatfulness) textual this perfectly specific here
         in fact the
      black takes a bicycle 
the computer the computer
     edits
         the population 
	this is 
          a text: egg fried in freedom
      will 
    existence 
       of free 
          will  your obligation
   compiles failure
ergo sum
    sound deep below art
being 
at 
does nonexistence 
and existence in certain sensations
in the face of
braces it.

“The music is beautiful it takes me”

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The music is beautiful it takes me a long time to see that this is besides the point. József Lendvay is beautiful like the music masculine affirmative embracing what is sad although I do not know from stories told to me but the music speaks and I understand it. But he says it and I have heard it clearly. Then something undeniable happens as József commands the percussion the second and third violins the patient cellos stare at the black shoulder-length curls begging for some contact waiting for a sign or a nod of approval or a rebuke József walks away from his attention and checks in with the bass reluctant at first again this cannot be a mistake. The bass speaks confident plays confident the incomparable shadow of József who notices nods again. The orchestra swells rehearsed a thousand times a reckless bass bounces atop other instruments strings stinging the fret board hard leather soles delighted at the floor boards of the wedding of flames the bass is free never before. Never. Reverie reserved a shuffling now of the feet somber and the bass back into His shadow then His shadow He blots out. In this disappearing the most muscular His eyes emerge to lunch spit out bones evaporate eviscerate. He reappears totally beside the bass nods the bass inhales draws its shadow repeats fills himself in with shadow turbulent shadow bravado fragile bravado deadly bravado’d shadow recedes all swell embrace bigger than clearly music not an imitation now but a formless capital commanding József still dancing in the shadow smiles bows bravo.

Stanza XVI from ‘Stanzas in Meditation’ by Gertrude Stein

Should they call me what they call me
When they come to call on me
And should I be satisfied with all three 
When all three are with me
Or should I say may they stay
Or will they stay with me
On no account must they cry out
About which one went where they went
In time to stay away may be they do
But I doubt it
As they were very much able to stay there.
However may they go if they say so.

from Part IV of Stanzas in Meditation from “Stein: Writings 1932-1946, Vol. 2”

Stein on France, Progress, History

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“The background of tradition of profound conviction that men and women and children do not change, that science is interesting but does not change anything, that democracy is real but that governments unless they tax you too much or get you defeated by the enemy are of no importance.”

Gertrude Stein in Paris France

“The sky is a very bad parent”

The sky is a very bad parent
impatient, grinding its teeth, hyperventilating 
as its baby wahs and wails and flails 
and vomits all over its parent's prettiest things
and the parent grabs its little darling
a little too tight
a taut smile a slight tear
traps it under an arm and marches into the kitchen
opens the dark chemical cabinet under the sink 
tosses in the nuisance 
like a lightning-chopped tree trunk crushes a two-family home
claps the cabinet closed.