Friday, January 16, 2004

point by point 

landing premise,
statuary claims,
then precinct in which
with laws and language
the good prevail
over offbeat syntax,
then the present tense,
then future imperfect,
then a matter of dipping
lowly as clouds,
then the whole wild thing
exploited with documents
(you care about the vote),
then seasons of mist and
mellow furtiveness,
then that intense
longing for a democracy
approved by one and all,
then a drop in tempo
to the bottom, then
a sale in West Virginia,
then green sward
like clouds,
then daily falling
clouds to retail,
then the measure,
then a trout symphony
bursting upon Iraq,
then the seeming,
then the gesture,
then crowds from way back
begin the usual toll,
then toxic like
your last comment,
then wintry efort,
then commotion
prized for faction,
then every detail
rounded in the sentence,
then further hell and hello,
then halls and business
adn incessant timing,
then the closing,
juncture at the point
of saying, then a last
measure of
what is left

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Thursday, January 15, 2004

quagmire function, the factory remix 

well it is indeed
the war of the
tho all nyms flicker
at the jetty
with swamping
tho bejesus
the taste of cold and
the burning
ache of salt
bejesus the night
is full of poets
even stark naked
wind chill out
there bejesus
the aliens are an
effort even now
but what is
your voting record
and the floating zero
near your heart
what is colder
than perspective
while peanut butter
wallows in
mid slur
bejesus it is colder
than two colder even
than one it is
night in the world
and hollow
and conditioned
and to tell you the
truth and
what's in this glass
and is buddhism
complete and
treatise upon poetry
and who the fuck
is that one
and what sour smell
calls community
out and numerous
made into statements
to indicate
leftist and rightist
same day service
this poem smells of
or a position
amidst stars
and show biz elves
and aliens as
winsome as crayons...
the seasonal rebuke
remains in position
but position itself
sways and covets

are you
then the
Jim or Jane of
all seasons
or am I?

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dogged headquarters fills rhyme settling after word play dilgence hoisted rustling mix up. fighting spirit looser on the terrain under oil over something posted for the moaning. the character issue plot scan rises wholesale fighting spirit out of control. mumbling battle on the trust of soil, American soil.

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Wednesday, January 14, 2004

more space patterns entrance our coming together 'as a nation' but widows and widowers start scorign ont heir own. they've planted the sponge in the right palce and now have a firm grasp on what coems 'next'. any reference to 'next' implodes direly: we're united in that cause. meanwhile, the aliens stretch out ion a pasture called Time, where zonign regulations cause differences, adn change seems complete, tho it isn't really. the Elves, furtehr along, stand for a treat. they've got the gas, so to speak.

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Tuesday, January 13, 2004

get wiggy / strategic error 

performed a get jiggy with it at right angles to a known felt like a drama but only after running into the wind yet the abundance of get jiggy with it meant Allen alter aNTHONY kIEDIS reference bank and choice of starvations, the wild excuse to move exclusively thru the dignity of 'words' and what you have to 'say'.

the way a poem dies shows its colours.

get jiggy with it while removing the seven dollars due on the first of the month for food and 'consideration'.

you some messed up in Iraq, collection of Wesley Clark versus Howard Dean, while molten Bush machine movies.

breadth of depth.

street cred.

sent water into nearby offices with jiggy with it.

moments after a roadside bomb.

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Monday, January 12, 2004

practical matters 

seven dollars is American. you can eat all seven. you and me, we live in this draft, and the pound or two of food we get will push us one more day into the future. that one day is seven dollars, is one or two pounds, is reason fresh and filled. this is the sense of fractions, as each seven dollars ignites another day. I am filled mightily with the coming day.

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food costs seven dollars. it weighs a pound or two, depending. it finishes many things. seven dollars is a lot of money, but food is worth it. we eat seven dollars, that's a good start to the day. we put aside seven dollars, for days when we will need food. a pound of food, or two, will work for us. we live in a desert with seven dollars, and the hope of another day.

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Sunday, January 11, 2004

you fund relief with the button. yours is push the button, on a chilly morning, overcome. Dr Fu Manchu, dds, presents an easy target, he's made for the future. we've got the memory to return to a point on earth, or think about the future, maybe. the future fights on. retainers crowd the hallway, awaiting the next insurrection. funding is beautiful. something branches within the weak arc of morning. so much information to tally, and the bitter cold. have you heard? the endless debate finds onslaught at the juncture. all will be discussed, with ramifications and fortifications. say, did you hear who won the game? became a plaint in need, just as we started our talk.

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