Instructions for a Narrative

Wikipedia Poem, No. 855

hamsam-sm2

Mislead darkness into spaces surrounded by the unknowable void. Definitive articles, please. There be thick monsters of expired physiology of the ancient world of mind, the dark spaces of plein-air painting, found artifacts—void, which you will know about—the maker, the forest dying in technology’s web, the art of confused interrogation. For the second act, return to the suspended forest. Limp, user-facing monsters of meat of barbecue float in leafy darkness: physiology: stick, suck, smash. I am talking about the ending now: Mind honeyed through like homonyms tase ancient color in the indefinite forest, confusion hung, locked in a gallery frame, lacking and smash the darkness. Sea and joy separated forever. By what you’ve yet to think, that’s the ending, I mean. 

Wikipedia Poem, No. 245

wiki245

“(odd word, that, / for me, ‘transpire,’ out of Latin / ‘to go out into breath’ or air or nothing),” Philip Levine

 

grind their
forty-five cleaners 
in great average 

the paperwork us custom
seat treading stative horns
the daily grind (an almost gas 

tank out-of-state on side minutes 
each way when side mine
motorcycle ownership to bits and I 

enjoyed picturing the cut one 
please terrible (still 
in the first two weeks later 
   
it’s that i’m doing like a cadillac 
with some other forty-five change 
a news reports touch with someone 

(still includes an almost
inverse indulged gorgeous 
here’s never rode it 

plate plater i don’t work 
which it from the outside 
leaks of course sewn to bits

paculum-spec2-sm

Sources:

Gerace, Joseph M. “I Shouldn’t Have Bought a 50-Year-Old Motorcycle.” Honda305.co. wikipoem.org, 5 July 2016. Web. 5 July 2016.

Levine, Philip. “The Worst Is Still to Come.” Ploughshares 42.1 (Spring 2016): 82. Print.

how the locksmith helped, draft 102120120753

you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.

in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked

their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against

the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor

he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.