Saturday, October 16, 2004

the Poetry Public's Wet Allegience 

your idea, fresh from clumps of stars. those stars on an open night, produced rain in interims fit over the rumour close to call: they're a language in your side and front, moving to the deliberate cut across the beachhead, waiting in the go there while the travel field is offer close. did you sing out phrases in classic union crunch, got to make a light the way? maybe so, and maybe grim as England. you did good in several structures, poster children running wild to know the more and less of that whole thing. you were up in arms, and down in them too. dunce cap correction molds over the sway to mean. did you care an awful field of roses? did you really land in graceful sand, adjusted for the present tense? you were poetry time a lot of feeling. inside the New York minute suite, weren't you allowing rare to rarer? that's the trumpet pest again, landing in the marsh. the marsh is home again, for you, for me, for all the alien concerns. pose another prob tonight, when strata need a date.

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Thursday, October 14, 2004

did jazz invent your bookmark? you were little, after all. the crisp season of Indo-Chinese colonialism produced a rubber banquet. you were ready. lists, made of tin flexion, seemed ultimate production hazards. you struck a bargain telling the logical teller at the stupid bank all you could invest. you listened as every president pulled together. is your gastric ailment equal to the pulse of nations? someday a production line will run a train into your sentence structure. someday, too, a rattling good jump on tomorrow. but that's tomorrow talking thru your passive lips. you're working extra hard, now you grow a telephone. data needs you to try. complete the sentence. give a good impression.

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Tuesday, October 12, 2004

in which
feeds in
gloss of
life fetal
range fed
net glow
faces west

the ring of cheese
around the latest

springs of believeable
elbow grease
poll tax

church by detente
screen of very
simple flop
the merest
of them all

poem excused of
ritual moon
while over gloss
seems haven

noodle ferry
turned remorseless pasta
on the comport
reporer flash

much given until
definite wriggle
slight test telling

all the inscrutable
tropics connived with
aerobic nuisance fee
and set to dance

how does the danger
dance our names
into the forested

cheap over
thrill of
nation your
own exploiit makes
known the fractal

vote hurling and
while you can
great sediment
of lean

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Monday, October 11, 2004

there was round in site, in sight, in a moment culled from whatever word was given. given was the day. a plush rage or fancy spree engulfed the national whatsis rating, churning duel as portions laid for bearing. words as shift into definitive pronoun, work of still more ages. and the language of the popular front and back, until we're hearing almost anything said. there was a sure tactic spent on this hill of beans, that presidential heap, those bendng rays of less than ultimate light. here's a sequence of lettering played out in verbal pouring forth, at an inclimate rate of zero point nine (your love extends). here's something called friend, which is a word on top of words. here's an exceptional love (married exception), and the place to say you sorry. you mean something every day today. you listen my friends. you love. this is just another land to read and write along the way.

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Sunday, October 10, 2004

in a bit of little time, with coarse rock salt dreading next to aimless pattern, while the friends indicate the rapture pose, possible sanctity in a language comes from growth, it's a bitter little time of voting haze and collaborative greed, judging from the system tank, all the dozing love slips from 1967 into an ether-informed purple chute of ringing sounds until you vote again, a gain in sight along the branch water breath, sleep after the all over, what's this suppose to mean?

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