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    Saturday
    Jan212012

    Compression

     

    Seeking the cage in which my voice can singOUT

    Maybe like some saltandpepper swishcan

    Some doublewalled ketchup squishbottle

    Some badmarraige  squeezebed

    Some nice man boringden

    Some home alone badgirl dingup drug

    Seeking structure to bring me wantout

    Got the twig fence, break stick, scream heel dance

    Got the howldrunk poem grunt tattoo whirl skirt

    Gonna follow penny bright horn blasts going

    Gonna be headbang and rustshins

    Gonna turn the junklock and pick the breeze

    Gonna hover with the antlers, the chandeliers,

    Be all doublehung and tyvek

    Be all hemtight and squeeze out

    Be all corseted and Xeroxed,

    Swaddled and ballpeened:

    Gonna be that shapedform

    That space between \ form

    That language becoming

    That art, this.

     

     

    Saturday
    Jan212012

    Bohm

    Thought is the same as action. I have to think about that, form my reaction.

    What a deep and catholic guilt this brings to me, uncomfortable you see

    In my flesh toned sanity.

    What we reach for is a healthy instability, impoverishing unpredictability

    building towers mechanistically till we quaver with our gravity.

    I do think we need a different view. A theory based on one and one is two

    is the same disease that turns the screw.

    What we need will equal three: include the process and you will see.

    Saturday
    Jan212012

    On Canada Hill

     

     

     

    She wraps her hands in tape, plastic bags

    She flies downhill against

    my inquiry, the quick

    story I catch her in.

    Her broken brow,

    her skin like a red sock

    stitched with wind--

    she calls  my soul from the

    grave of wanting men.

    Do we see together?

    Does she see that

    gyroscopic whirling heaven

    pressing down

    like mother's knuckles scrubbing open  

    the floor of memory?

    If I lie on her bed of leaves

    and eat her dinner

    nickel by nickel

    and look upon the fists

    of trees and factories

    held to the sky like a march

    on God--

    Would I crack the bone,

    wish on marrow, spit blood for art,

    see her monkey body?

    If she were to lie on my bed

    and hold my heart

    tinkling like a bell

    and watch my dreams rise

    like bread through a wire

    and feed me flannel dust, linen dander,

    thread by thread

    and feed me other things,

    things slathered by the tongues of men,

    strange forms shaped in a hungry press--

    would this brain give up

    its saffron memory to gild the air?

     

     

     

     

     

    Saturday
    Jan212012

    FIRE

     

                                                 compositions for godprayer

     

    http:// burning/burning books/burnt toast/burning mattress/burning boyfriend/burning restaurant/again/burning restaurant/burning building becomes a garden/fire becomes a painting/fire while painting fire/poem about a fire/some other fire lurking large behind all this/and burn.flames.purification

     

     

    fire

     

    terrible beauty

    power/hungers   history our story

    me and/or all of us

    one child or/world roiling the sea

    time: thick jelly  

    our hidden pain the shorter

    colors of or those

    words for joyous thank you breaking down

    w/finer violet colors 

    virgin blue the light/hot

    blackened sparkles of beautiful disease

    this ancient.  elegance

    fire

     

                            death by fire

     

    under:through  it sound of bone flutes dancing:branching first beat

    light in meaning:voices white ^snapping^ wind not white but

    flapping:folding up *repeating*

    lurch of millions [breaking] millions larger›smaller‹larger

    gloria.ok.floria okay›tiny things»»»»»«««««tiny brilliant ›

    cactus points w/loud voice sweeping dirts out roaring

    nothing ‹bigger› than I think the wind hot:birth/static:

    god/donut UNImaginable *repeating* ones and giving DA!

    saw ends but saw what  .ibelieve.  time is not had now

    skins and sacks  .believe.  its beauty/fear/sound

    old trees in labor  *breathing*  babies  nothing:ordered  nothing:neutral

    nothing/nothing  .ibelieve.  ilove›‹thank›‹lovei

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

                                                           death by fire

     

     

    under:through  it sound of bone flutes dancing:branching first beat

    light in meaning:voices white ^snapping^ wind not white but

    flapping:folding up *repeating*

    lurch of millions [breaking] millions larger›smaller‹larger

    gloria.ok.floria okay›tiny things»»»»»«««««tiny brilliant ›

    cactus points w/loud voice sweeping dirts out roaring

    nothing ‹bigger› than I think the wind hot:birth/static:

    god/donut UNImaginable *repeating* ones and giving DA!

    saw ends but saw what  .ibelieve.  time is not had now

    skins and sacks  .believe.  its beauty/fear/sound

    old trees in labor  *breathing*  babies  nothing:ordered  nothing:neutral

    nothing/nothing  .ibelieve.  ilove›‹thank›‹lovei

     

     

     

     

     

    Saturday
    Jan212012

    Medicate> Meditate> fool

     

     

    ambition struggles along,

    straggles the path, seed blown ragweed mad

    allergic, bad.

    Who am I, great bag of dust, yellow greenish must

    hush hush of caution’s push on canvas walls,

    imagination released in a sneezing cloud

    “a dry brain in a dry season” :  sit and sift.

    All is process, the lint of hubris

    puffing through the air.

    I say I must, I must.

     

    Well, yellow bag, what if all this

    was chemicals washing your brain

    the wrong color. What if

    your conclusions are wrong after all

    all the time wrong dead wrong

    and there was a reason for the drinking,

    thinking, the lying, dying...

     

    The struggle to consider life in all its beauty

    that huge struggle out of which: art I thought:

    maybe just some serotonin thing and it wasn’t art after all,

    but the struggle of....shit!

     

    Please. Just let the struggle to love be nothing less

    than the terrible thing it has been.

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