Saturday, March 13, 2004

a particular

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a process report

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Friday, March 12, 2004

unwrap that process furtive link to distribution owning poetry

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I wanted to rule all the milkshakes and all the carpet cleaners. I wanted to choose poems from the mass and isolate only the emotion. one day Cid Corman died into news, but I respected the telltale left in the breeze, like the waft in autumn as West Virginia transpired. I wanted to include the blood of life, but grew scared, for everything slips thru. I wanted numbers to isolate principles, and isolation itself to reward dull hills with autumn insistence. I wanted to read of heaven in the hills. something terrible can happen and you grow fond. we look at terrible words and expect something different. clear light and black light and Cid Corman's death. we like to say that some people are 'like that', but it is only too true. a poem doesn't lodge in the word nor vice versa. trees in West Virginia are different somehow I mean, I am here in Massachusetts, a long way from 'home'.

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Wednesday, March 10, 2004

official parochial

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Tuesday, March 09, 2004

not perhaps
when maps hate a date,
a rate finds slow dealing,
cools on Mars or
Venus, where the view
seems like turning, yet
closer home a
surveys the scene
and produces
endigns for sentences
tho not paragraphs,
which are denials of
structure by the
fact of insistence,
walking home
with strangers

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Sunday, March 07, 2004

this good tender horse drove under the idea while only a few aliens could respect inside the toll of freely night gone wild so the people expounded on various horse senses declarations and the shirt of deeds rose to conclusion tho wow prolonged the vetting needed we sleep we dream we wait for in between words, a breath nothingmore

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