Tuesday, January 30, 2007


the hysterical moment captures

bliss instinct particle of snow lodged between

scenes remembered

not eating, sleeping, an instance of

trauma cannot break through

the precipitation, a tuesday, a repetition

of intent hidden under the lid of mind

comes just before, or after the blue

haze of future caught through past



Friday, January 26, 2007

good practice?

i'm trying to write "regular" poems... is it working? is it worth it?

no idea

just practicing, working on a new mss that will include more traditional "looking" things and i don't know what the content will be doing, from one to another, across the body of the thing...

am i giving up innovative use of form and space on the page?


though in either case that is/would be difficult to see/determine from this blog format

in any case, line breaks or no, listening to sound and movement of language on and off the page

dotting the landscape

Such pleasant office have we long pursued

Incumbent o’er the surface of past time

--W. Wordsworth, The Prelude, Book IV

because for each piece of snow

that fell against

on a day

when I was 11

a moment now like old crystal

the light hits

through the afternoon window

they were married in 1905

mittens on string threaded

through the arms of a



impervious to everything


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

Monday, January 22, 2007

thoreau, hawthorne, or how the west was won

the pace at which

or a train moving


the movie was called dodge city and it was

cowboys cowboys

and guns


lacking civic (drink responsibly)

the sheer movement into nothingness

an explosion

violent speed

of apocalypse

if the sheriff can’t save us

this time

Friday, January 19, 2007


“Of this kind is the distinction betwixt figure and the body figur’d;

motion and the body mov’d.”

--David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature

your marble sphere my box


the words laid one on top


broken letters

an articulation of history through space

on the page

who was defeated

whose artifacts


kiss me present tense against shining marble

does not move

its form holding together



how much means

across letters objects

viewed from every direction

will not simply show and tell

Thursday, January 18, 2007

sliver paper

how her mouth curved
the impossible
hands breaking black
solid eyed blackbird (how many ways)
the taste of barbaric glass
drum silver and tell me
about the straw paper words
lurking hysterical
silver sliver inside
lice tinfoil glass

giggle inside words
breaking children glitter

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

an offering
for em

‘i shed before walking out the door’ she writes in hopes that he stays this time, that he comes back that he begins to breathe a sense of place, fills his lungs with sitting still and listening. there are birds here. a river. a lake if you attempt the stroll. ‘this is my intention’ she thinks. ‘to distinguish you from the flowers. to paint you into this everyday.’ you breathe deep, deep enough to hold distant places in your lungs so deep those places fill your eyes, you don’t see her skin shiver before you turn into the heat, into the horizon, ask for more and return with nothing, or do you return, or does she imagine it, next to the kerosene lamp, pieces of pottery at her feet, watching what she remembers of your skin, revolving.


breaking bowl

this bowl falling and breaking

broken and lying at my feet

is this your bowl

shards i’m afraid

only shards are left

and pieces

pieces of shards of this bowl

at my feet

07 - thought 1 -

be in the moment, present tense, first word best word, a rose is a rose is all you can do is start here, keep starting, consider this, and consider...

writing having fallen off toward the end of a semester... a bind not simply double but multiple...which moment in which what occurs that may or not be writing. to write, to think, to read...to do homework and write something else...

begin this year again. writing. there is little hope in this present/future tense for publishing... no single pieces, no whole books. dusty manuscripts. lovely and friendly rejection notes. this accumulation of historical (all moments until this one particular, every particular moment turning into history, into memory if i could remember other than this, single, instant), pieces of, unmoving, seeming circular in one single space.

begin again. continue to begin. continue with the single instant.