Whiteacre with God of Love

Wikipedia Poem, No. 671

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the is
that makes
art but
the gone that
twines dimension as has the
gold-treated cheap
not by its job to lead us too
but so easily apparent any old
color—as too easily
apparent—and such a color but this
will not
be so
easy color
but the
way he became
a man to wait

there came a man wait

Continue reading

First Barn Owl Egg Hatch

Wikipedia Poem, No. 484

wiki484-sm

“There is a separation / between life and death / where [feathers] grow // and that is where I want to go / this weekend,” paraphrasing Padgett

screech
in green darkness
and 
stamp 
         my 
          talons

wet 
      leafy flesh 
the 
master has built 

there 
will be 
many bones

a small mouthful
       of mouse
      a 
      fatty 
       bite

Invest in Hydrangeas

Wikipedia Poem, No. 469

wiki469

“I’ve seen thy spirit bending / In fond idolatry.” Emily Dickinson

         you don't like 
your opinions
but 
   because 
i'm 
a flatterer
     or 
something 

      i loved

         it is 
      nothing to 
alter its dimensions 
i'm 
         a flatterer
vested in hydrangeas
or 
    something black 
        and 
   ravaged
	wielding 
       love

       is that you 
afraid        of love simply because 
    i'm a flatterer
and have flattered before
  or is something black 
        and ravage
      	wielding the vest of hydrangeas
or something vested in hydrangeas
or 
        something to 
          alter 
         its 
  dimensions
         because you're flattered 
         by your opinions
or something 
      more 
like 
you
         
it's
  just like 
this

      show 
        me the altar in you
unwilling to be loved
please
show me
	and i will
	desecrate it

Reminder

wiki395-01

 

I’ve woken up long ago. The plane scurries silently overhead, is full of people, of consequence. It is gone in 3 seconds. Passed through the window shade into nowhere. In France and Germany purple contains more red and less blue. A cat of ash I watch intently. As he, too, in silence, trots into the backyard. Does he live in the shed? What do I know? He disperses behind the shed, out of nothing. Is this music too loud? I’m done with questions, it is fine. I used to wonder why John Ashbery bothers with collage, but it’s no longer a concern of mine. I’m older now and I understand. A man is not only a beautyberry or only a painter or only a gondola. He can live anywhere at any time and my body is the mug of coffee that carries me here. If I obscure this mess, watch what it becomes! A pile of ciphers. (A muscular word that I need to be reminded of occasionally. One should be grateful when one is reminded of that word: Cipher. Thank the man and the place who reminds one of it: Matt Taibbi, last night, at the party.) A pile of ciphers like a lover’s alarm clock and reportage, hot and sweet. A pillow for sleeping then. Watch how the ciphers redden and collapse into one another as the temperature rises. The air desaturates. Lungs no longer new, suddenly, nude. I suppose I am a journalist first, and recoil. My socks do not match. Your socks, meanwhile, in mid-flight. Everything purple is discarded on the bedroom floor, gathering little flakes of us. My eyes today are gray, thank you for asking.

Wikipedia Poem, No. 378

wiki378-02

“that we be returned to the faceless / attention, / the waiting and waiting for the telling sound. / Am I alone here?” from Jorie Graham’s “The Phase After History”

that last walk i
pissed a sigh
and she tickled thought

breath needs
but one last walk
piss my tail

beats twice bedsheet
breath in the dither
the third time i’m surprised

her white lashes flutter nothing lasts
walk across high-pitched europe
in heels white europe pissed away that walk

i pissed sigh
she has ticked away
from me and could be coulding

contact her into her
tail beats twice such a way
a high-pitched passport

talking gently a staccato thought out
a thought that she is boring
and better lost her breath or selfishness

Wikipedia Poem, No. 284

wiki284-sm

 

solicitation
the lasting sting-pain
poet in the dark

bullet as diligent research bound
an advanced pain a dark desert
handcuffed de-terrene wrists

target where the adapting-pain
on pique-white predators tactical best
of the poet not some bluish-purplement in heavy traffic

the same stockeyed honey bee
pain scaled up to life    for it is
that

more
life hours of morning
things failing the harvest

the poet’s own industry
from history
repelled forward

more more more

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

 deletepocket
  Is 
    the A-plot of presence (or a 
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.