Monday, August 31, 2009

traveling sideways each unexpected disintegrating on the wind a variety of textures at this moment the process of—grains of wood long and fine spread across indiscernible movement the feel of time slowed this empty space of a single note lingering—a skin irritation a humming appliance an eyelash falls without warning this lesson (in)stilled no test no outcome—taste this permanent timeless circle frozen stop here—rest

Friday, August 28, 2009

fluted lyrics a day in rain flickering as if. as if announced, invited, or the entertainment swallows any serious discussion of rain or the correct calibration of. the correct calibration of nonsense, humor, desperation having intended to continue in an affair long awaited and yet, ever so gently. ever so gently a brush, silence the wandering or wayward ever on to something more poignant or flattering what could never be this or otherwise. this or otherwise he tried to articulate without agreeing to drink first, so clever or unannounced, a generic unfulfilled wish or constant repeating car tires through rain at street level, one last hope. one last hope negotiated over mundane sci-fi and casual brushing, after each syllable placed or replaced with personal expression, the sound of your eyelashes, fluttering, intoxicated.

Daily Tao
The Book of The Way, Day by Day
Friday, 28 August, 2009 :: 9

Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people's approval
and you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.

Translation by Stephen Mitchell.
Site © Copyright 2003-5 Glen Sanford.
All Rights Reserved.

Thursday, August 27, 2009


to be born and live as variously as possible

--Frank O’Hara

circling around the finding is the part of (dis)grace, what is left in clutter or shredded notions of past ignited in present tense each word shaved off like curls of soap, carved wood ornaments, one stray hair after another. the intention of falling rock or (grace) hartigan’s colors swept into place among a social mess of history and the inevitable, each line feeling canvas on skin, each stroke trusting and failing simultaneously, collage parts into a new whole, spacing expressions of the everyday, among art or emotion, moving stillness parallel to any destination.
pieces of reflection leading blue lines scattered stories only remembered in photos, an old farm, buildings now long gone, a single moment still and content captured before the storm before waves washing over distort everything underneath. having heard your voice in my head, resonating, hold each string for a moment longer listening to each note, a voice mingling the various sounds, sweet and floating, or the rhythms of a drum in sync, in my chest, an african drum beat in 3s, weaving waking the start of something. pieces mingling, scattering, finding new form, parts of moments captured, a smile, a touch, before this distance only leftovers, left, what always remained under, washing over, lines scatter delirious and blue water meets sky at the endless horizon. where once imagined scented ideas sent on the wind, this still collapse.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

at the instant of x

Brutes abstract not.

--John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding

the way that I can put each number
against the cool of your skin
lingering above

the ratio matching nature
greek symbols across the sidewalk
like hopscotch for theorists
explaining each dimension
of yard grass limb

stretching over moments
from the very first
when you stood, brown corduroy
and i listed the mathematics
of inclination

after thought
an image

where have you been, i'm looking

foward, around a constellation of minutes
that may or not


between the lines

i am running and think: if only, yes, this single drop of.

pacing the day. heavy under grey.

a placard reads: falter and save your ink.

what becomes difficult to read.

i want to say: please stop by every day.

write this into your schedule.

add: a trigger of lemon-scented products reminds me of you

and floss, flossing mint-flavored.

walking in the street. sitting.

out of ink, postage, shifting intent.

wanting to add: even in that case, it could be like this.

wanting to decide to paint lines on any court.


these slender pieces
gravity holds us together

his body was filled
with the chemicals that make up flame retardant

your black saturn
so shiny and new
forgive me

the plums i didn’t eat for lunch
not sweet
fresh from the farm

have we not (don’t say evolved, don’t say adapted)
been selected for this
all along
of a symphony for example (the one repeated/repeatable refrain)

can you hum the entire movement?

an ode
to an old

we swallow
and breathe
in a dangerously close space

proximity of red tiles
a recording device
lines on a road
separate me (green subaru)