Monthly Archives: December 2010

…SAINTS’ HANDS ARE LIKE OURS…

[reponse to lace inLakes ]

The pond is all laced-up with thumbs it sends you back to a name you used to speak thick like the snow shaking from the trees You know while it keeps falling there’s a chance of sun or a chance of shadows anyway like prints on the carpet running across the frozen pond There’s a chance you should’ve gone after the tracks but what in the name of heaven could you hope to find In any case there’s an equal chance of lack or of pathology things that make it hard to see other things Lingering into your inner ear is the insistence of slow looking of watching the laced-up pond till it moves breaks cracks runs toward you and the trees in one rush the locked-up thumbs wrapping twisting around each other hooking and holding still

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…THE CART IS OUT IN THE STREET TO CONFIRM…

[response to “Thicklace inmemory carpent…”]

lace inLakes

[read the response “The pond is all laced-up with thumbs…”]


…THAT THE WAY THAT IT COMES IS LIKE A WOOL…

[response to “The weather is unreasonably seasonable…”]

Thicklace inmemory carpent. Lakes the thickhurts for awhile then name of tree with gypsumname ofgum oftree hold there. Heave trackslow phototon arun.

Whetherin back unreasonably. Colon fit runsup season looksat onderthumb lookim print.

Halp meetsern urninit should lackershake to see. Lackershake tosee.

[read the response “lace inLakes“]


…THE DEGREE OF MY VISCOSITY…

[Response to “at one time…“]

 

 

[read the response Lumens liminalia…]


…WE MET IN CAPRI IN 1924…

[Response to “I pick up a container of hummus…” and “The standard protocol is…”]

The weather is unreasonably unseasonable and even though the signs slump in the snow you suspect there is something the pictures want from you. You’ve forgotten the way back to the place where you last brushed your teeth and where you last lowered your eyelids and spit into a sink below the standard metal frame of a bathroom mirror. Where the condition of your eyes tickled you or maybe seeded in you an image of unwrapped boxes piled just south of a tall brick wall. It could be said that you are one carpet frog away from bouillabaisse.

A car horn startles the rind of the afternoon. What really chafes is the thought seated behind your irises. The thought made of photographs taken from different angles of a garbage can relentlessly pressed into the snow like a bird beak into ice cream. The day he said to you it would always be that way.

[read the response “Thicklace inmemory carpent…”]


… IN A WOVEN SEA TOO SMALL FOR ME …

[Response to “I pick up a container of hummus…”]

The standard protocol is don’t ruin it for everybody as my body slumps into seated paper and my eyelids wrap and unwrap my eyes I know I’ve forgotten to brush my teeth and my stubble chafes and the tiny hands and the garbage and spit carpet frog car picture tickle bouillabaisse clementine rind bird beak car horn ski boots ice cream.  Or maybe he said it is to be reasonably wrought.

[read the response “The weather is unreasonably unseasonable…”]


…I TOOK UP PREEMPTIVE DAMAGE CONTROL…

[response to “Alliles” ]

I walked out of the room
Hardly knowing why heel
toe heel toe
Like tick tack but without
Another facing

I’d already come into an
understanding
in the room
of your
latched dress
The hook and the way it
looked unhooked next to the

You toed my heliocentric
circuit with your stance, placed
a crass touch tick on my
toe heel tack heel toe