Saturday, March 27, 2004

tropic delicate
whoops Thomas Taliis
feds said
district manage sleeps
with fishes isn't
network causation
but butthead at work
close door policy
and asymptote
topic sentence
in the middle
of earth
the people

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didn't in the
yet stone of offering
all tomorrow
while the wet
and memory fills
acting experiment
the daily rise
over the pulse and
once or twice
in the billow

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Thursday, March 25, 2004

hey people discourse 

chock full of republic
that says a plain song on top of whipped.
it beats the band.
the band goes down in
numbers to the sea.
each blooded river does the same.
a congenial pattern of poetic mop up,
towns in matter, weighted for the critical.
those in perspective
release a class.
of course it's about everything,
the running of random over the political smile
of advertising.
each pictogram has the news.
the grumpy sunbeam looks like next.
all these poems piled high
in the big literate way we weigh.
chuck a few stones into the river
the green hills of West Virginia
are more than the area of rumour,
more than nutty,
more than a superhero's speed of dialing,
more than a few launched,
more than bookable,
more than sump pump,
more than planet sag,
more than diligent over the Andes,
more than sentence told
a hundred times.
Skip Spence tells
aNTHONY kIEDIS to go home.

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currently the botch laid true on the rails into a former town, now crushing dismal personage into look at what. neat sequence of half tones mars little jungle tunnel vision. along for the ride program delivers that ape. near the pond and into a smell of constant mumble, it's good to have attributes.

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Wednesday, March 24, 2004

my anthology 

in your registry and practical depth do you send out red numbers, piles upon piles? are you outside the telling of each numeral, even in the face of resistance and plunge? the desperation may seem equal to an any act, while running the gamut from A to A again, highly profound exercise. regret won't work on this natural perturbation, not while names still float. could be the bones of your favourite, or the enemy after all.

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Tuesday, March 23, 2004


couldn't employ patience on a small piece of time. left the rock alone. travelled to Allen Ginsberg or sane planet or hero or a word from an ocean or Emily Dickinson or a starry night. felt for the haven involved. rousted by inclusion, and felt soft to astonish. drowsed in meaning, till it ran low. the ocean of inept bringing saw thru time. told only stories, then told rare. patience made a watery planet, a place in time, a rock of gift, a touch inside. doesn't have a moment left, yet tried again. it was love or the equivalent, as we left the place. we sure to hire or remember, we sure to share.

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today's gunk on top of last knit framework while discussing poetry with only aliens to watch. as if the long time inside the word warrant rode a duck to the foundry where we would try. if only in the event signal we could wrap a number moist with love. in these parts of community rock breaking we need a boundary sung in high C, fragrant to the heavens. do 'we' need 'you'?

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Monday, March 22, 2004

in the presence
of time
with a
full tank of gas
madre padre mio

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a long wake into the forest prepared for a talk with each delegated word. a probable cost leaps into a glen, to clear up settled genes. an alien needs time to place its picture. meanwhile, people are everywhere, that's a fact. they drink coffee late, then fiddle their way home. home shows a nature of resistance, as if the war had an enemy. fine talk surfaces, well of poetry. since poetry is important, for the career it lodges, then the candidates work it hard. they haven't read everything, but gained a gist. certainty wants to wrap up this part of the program while the aliens still act shyly. soon, the intemperate will have something to wrestle with. a bomb here or there to discover while someone talks a blue streak, for instance. if we were listening carefully, instead of talking about talking about, then a place would be in place. sturdy honest work wants us in position. the aliens hover. we get the idea.

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Sunday, March 21, 2004

the damage metre doesn't love me, I'm on popular till loosened grapeshot fields the day. on loan of tomorrow feds, greater guarantee while ladders break provocatively. what if I were pantaloons in the sun, severed from drooping, and only engaged as a node amongst close reading? as if the day, the night, and clerical errors of great import. the rose of poetry, while reading instead of talking. well, the sound of peaceniks brocading the sunset, listen for a stack. the whole positions itself amidst parts, founding a protocol and cuttlefish. later, we'll sleep, having enough definition for the nonce. who is wary now, and will forgive? the last sentence awaits its turn.

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popular position 

it's a once choice in line forward court the brain season mining deliberate language fund for the fraught stone movement clarity jacked up coolness sort thru beaten tracks on a federal resistance program dollops in May as choice fretting stats and sheets piled on tablature your reason runs to molded crime or buying in while time posits steam dragon firing on all pistons like you care we care they care one care in the midst of truckloads of dormancy regulations world as a better palace syndrome and incorporated for all love the drastic exchange nets a fine quire note the season chump change dragging tail locked in see thru liens and pebbles on a singular beach default buttress of logical impute like you go toward the store not to it reasoning as a clock breaks no one cushions the fall also incorporated the raison d'etre works on a bridge or a skiff and the rest of us favour coffee as a drool creep into the payment plan and tell of officious heaven the wisdom of hedges the filing in of throttle while people abrupt their training camp Iraqi stepover which is next after slab of meat or diligent cross between one and two theory divided by love of ilk the thrill of afterburn and forenoon closing costs and scampering cat how the association feeds human responsibility in a language called dreck or a registry known for solace wild streets and pools of plod while reaching a condition and riling up the engine foist in the new made poetry pile slap of sleet in a mayhem town of little welcoming you even now

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