Saturday, February 07, 2004

brittle partitions, exacting nouns from thin air, and you become murmur, thwart, the whole tangent

later, scroll form boosts unbent ways and means syllogism, possible affront to good taste

simultaneous to that, field angels regard the 'war', and find something amiss

furthermore, brittle partitions seem like home

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so the rich collapse. their bankers stare in engine, how they work. so their brilliant sentences settle on a lawn, unmovable and certain to defy. but we look at them, rich as green came over the hill one fine spring day. we were robbed, they say, as losing is a structure on which to peg a lateral move again. we think how loss defines our next day, and figure we can't relate. do they still have saturdays where you live? we ask as parting. is breath still part of your sentence? the rich reply.

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Friday, February 06, 2004

some grave day (again), to travel by plans. instant rain fed lowered streams, till the bite of hazard closed on today's public outcry. so much for florid dying in the streets, so much for film of children such as that. from any country down to the last drop, a spectacle of what you expect. the losses enumerate childlike, and we can tell local authorities. political plans rise, while mainly elite seize the day. a vacation with stripmines, deviled water, and the last sentence before breath. deeper is a landmark, and still the children seem to be chosen. still, that is, the present fallen into parties and brush with death. still, chiming chords to wake one sad demonstration. still, the name of the river when we are ready. this river arrives at a point in time, to clear memory and slowly pervade the gulf. loss is definite, found, cushioning, serious, telling, fine and wake. one hand reaches another, in effort and structure. love becomes a word, then becomes no word at all.

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interuption voice 

you might want to follow along or sign in. there's a terrible 'thing' going on, about which much needs to be known. learn more, learn more! perhaps we could split up, creating a space for debate. in the meeting point where voices sound as one, a power of affinity will work out the details. meanwhile, we could expect a large reversal in the sanctity of this seeming, for we demand a lot. morever, details are scant, as if there were a tuneless discussion of priorities on the table before the meat of the matter can be chewed and digested. the process will be agonizing, but that's the charm of it all. if you have any input to offer, please fill out the appropriate form and send it stat to the address that you know. thanks!

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Thursday, February 05, 2004

thoughtful till blue in the face reaches what President Bush said on day off and concerning those who anoint the CIA practices whereas a trade balance secures emotion for truncation and deviation from simple tho telling the elegiac rectitude allows a handful still it's a voter populace and remedial sway while wind has been lifting and if effort ever thwarted enemy or the like then this is the time tho maybe place is a misnomer when describing the patience of intent or the correctness of constant bickering amongst nations or their kind while the situation darkens or grows deeper in meaning if not in exit polls and philosophical differences venting the trade sanctions with a plump tart apple of an exception, yes, 'tis a grand and frosty evening in this world...

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mostly came to a conclusion, then sleet and freezing rain, then dialogue (or traverse), and the dormitory of those monasteries seem like hell forgotten. then we read about the essence of the program, and variable look at now, whatever that may be. we listen as autumn bells ring in the past, the chancy sound of winter on the roof or over the utility lines, or to the dog that swallowed something sickening. Tibet can be invented again! might be the brand name kind of relief to expect. try Afghanistan again, try the homeless squad again. try thinking coffee brews for someone down the street. try angels as they leave again. the work left to us holds many truths, all of which flop wetly on the dock. our breath is stung. summer made us drown. time grows considered and lost.

okay, remember the vast desert, just so much time. there was a hill in West Virginia, finished with autumn morning sun. there was some coast to coast transgression, how the eager want their way. sunshine from Vietnam seems tame and distant. laity emperors burn a few pages. doctrine doesn't work so good. someone dies in a moment, and it is that life that we hold as the moment, as if language were with us.

a hold, we discover, has been put on everything.

the monasteries were likely targets, and the skillful ways to find repetition of hollow oaths. that is, the oaths were made of any timely matter, but the transit costs were too heavy, linked to fear and aplomb. yawning statistics about what one did at work go into a file and the file loses all. impetus selects another administration, and the choices survive with rancour or policy, eliminating causal practice from the tune or equation. then can one reach a conclusion, but it is the coffee after all that matters.

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Wednesday, February 04, 2004

this is new affordable housing, one might muse, looking at the clearing under smoke. there was some grave day heading toward a great war between states, like those between forgetfulness and memory's teeming. people glide to the nearest alien, so that parting shots can be shed in light of current understanding. a war doesn't affect everybody, for goodness sake, a person might declare. probabilities remain whole, for guidance and a turn at bat. we like our chances, tho the crowd at the head of the parade seems rather varied. will they all help us to our place? we ask, with treasure troves asserting our policy hack. it's a dismal battle, in time and thru various holes that tell us something. perhaps the jingle might go something like this: black hole, black hole, how much do you eat time? then add a little rhyme to carry thru to future days, the spell, mighty emphasis, clearance, a vote, distraction, empathy, wild, given, and not a moment too soon. it's a fight till the end of fight, and so on.

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thinking wednesday might 

policy flops over, angels leave Damascas. air raid of informants pull for presidential dial tone, but this mixes up the present administration. a lama's on the loose, and nomads over sands, while in jungles and cities equal justice assaults a piece of planet. mordant slice of nature for a proud person, hopping to the place of injunction and seeking candidates with aura. now it's your turn, comes the laugh. it's on the broadcast even now, but later will be better. slapping at alien envy because the universe appears rather large, and where we are placed seems like the perfect conjunction, and the rhymes we've assembled might tickle the application of heaven. see how these certainties pale against the plopping sound of each next shoe that drops? this machine is ours, living as we do, in the position of fragments and the alignment of ghosts. angels leave New York now, it's possible they have a genuine cause to consider.

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this year is safe mode, which curls over the landscape made slightly less perfect by a random build up. all kindnesses dwelt in the surge forward over masked terrain and into the extra version of rippling. a wild language exists, distant as the sentence filling these vending weapons. our days aren't practice beyond the piping in the distance, tho distance forms a change without even preparation. school has been called. aliens arrive with vigour, for change seems to attend the delicate nature that has been bought. drink your coffee, Sir Denis, hisses Dr Fu Manchu, DDS, while entropy wraps its little hands around. well, these bombs are for the good, in documents where we could explain suddenness and 'slight disagreement'.

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Tuesday, February 03, 2004

trend setter 

please excuse errors like I excuse leaves. excuse little child bomb, a misery fading from habit. excuse the bullish want to see a way to the store while something else begins to show signs. please excuse the next sentence, after which excuse the period that could stop the words. excuse all the ends of other sentences, for we live in a rich timing of events. excuse a war zone if it is in your heart, sayeth the smoke from my hopeless gun toting. excuse a mask that means coaxing community into network. ask me about poetry, which is the excuse of dignity to match time with the words that were left. excuse poetry that is here, always here, never there. excuse Nepal and Tibet as equal topics of equal sentences. excuse my USA and my orange outside and my golden inside and my known to withdraw. excuse, and this. excuse moaning and excuse the laughter over. excuse spelling after spelling, and Piper, and fielding the layers in time. excuse look at my hair at 51, my arms in between people, my list after list.

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Bath Tub Gin Production 

too much tender drat when look it's like this. there's that 'AMERICAN' bring it on that China name of lodge your angel. you'd speak screaming over the noise but what are they doing? the point being the touchy tendril of this clutch of community, so to speak. there's an impaled while explaining the nicer aspects of sweatshops your savings. your China owns uranium like who knows what. it's up the bike path into dreams of full-fledged lama drama, top of the day, bejesus just that simple. bottom of the day is a few misdeeds, compunctions meeting political history. scoobie treats for requiem, Tibet at the bottom of the top of the middle way, fairway. see, it's golf among nations in your seeing, mind field wouldn't look so bad. mine field, your field, any China storm is America, land of the spine. today's gone to the title of narrative while erstwhile Vietnam provokes a scandal called the 60s. but numbers don't matter. two died to be less than one. one died a million times. voter turn out died a many times, closer to reproach than a billion. turn out times loss equals system. system thanks your lucky stars, each and every mountain in the way. wayside is Jack Kerouac, who cared in seven pieces, each piece with a name and product code. symbols were tormorrow expressed as a statue. statues were where we left the victims. angels left Baghdad, turned to a country here and there. Our New England Patriots (foot balls) divided by cogent apt rephrasing lost in space plus the deigning vigour of commercial pity, brought over from elsewhere and carry the one. where the equal sign rests, so rests the rest of language. you were expecting more, but the bassist fell asleep.

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much went damaged thru time while you were talking to that door. you were talking to that doorknob. then you fell for Tibet, with rough doors everywhere. you were talking toward mouse, insisting on delivering anything at all. you talk to snowflake, tho all froze in a moment. you talked gruffly to China, which was U.S. you said useless. you were left in Iraq, talking to tin. iron and rock were near. you talked to them. much damaged told talk in time, lose Tibet, grow up. you talked to benefit, while out walking at the dog. you were walking at snow, at spring, at road into something terribly. familiar was what you talked to, then it strange. you talked to strange into night and over a line. sorry I was gone while you talked I talked. sorry at the door.

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