[response to the coffee under the coffee]
no i made a totem because it was neither you nor myself that i trusted
wondered i never could get you to like things without sugar and
guessed afterwards i always knew more about //you always pretended
you didn’t know more about power but // afterwards i didn’t write a letter
i wrote a string of them thirty-two to be honest and they fit on one side
of an index card and in red i’ll soon pick it up and fold it into strips and
even // i never wanted to know about summer it’s warmer now and the
roaches are back so much i wander out when the smell of repellent fills
the apartment and // cold cups of coffee stay on the desk where they’re
left // i remember distinctly the last thing i trusted was the smell of
grapefruit but // there’s a place somewhere out powerfully left // look at
the old sights this // have love what the highway and the head of state
[response to “In This City…”]
My old Russian Carpet
Walking through I shake my carpet:dirty napkins,
. old leaves
. dirty napkins,
. shoe strings.
I can fold it backwards back
. southwest corner reversed under the northeast
Cell phone conversations doubled in half
. atmospheric noise
your hand that is not your hand
. her handled cookie laughing
. negative parabolas cradled,
fire eaten half-a-day magicians
. There was no league of nations.
Extra dimensional railways now in my closet.
[read the response: “Extra dimensional railways”]
[response to “Reasonable Disintegration // A Romance”]
Unreasonable disintegration \\
A shifting center: two hectometers
. left and
. it’s back where you started.
it’s back where you started.ight take a few hours
It was said, within a universe of
. all motion would be
Relative. (This might take a few hours
to process) Wherever it is, this ground
is fertile for barriers–so much junk
in there already. Even minuscule
Barbs keep out infants from either side of
. Oh how they sang when the fire-
arms fired back!
. It was war-time, so at
the fold-out table, in the slobbery
glutton’s fit of the consciously desperate,
gripping spades, we all chanted, “crack the crust
of my caramel custard — myam!” Already
it’s too much. Poetry-man, I threw up.
[read the responses: “From Algebra“, and this]
[response to “Residue“]
Then, when digested masks settle,
a dish of custard
. reveals my shortcomings
(though I wish they were long goings).
. The man waving from everywhere I never expected
sent it over.
A crack in the surface stares back.
. No accident, no consequence.
Just damaged by a teaspoon that never said yes.
. Break me. It’s the second law,
Melting like reason into nothingness.
[read the response: “// The Law of Second //”]
[response to “Residue”]
Here, where ruptured vessel blossoming, a
flying book of
the bruise exactly. (had wanted to say
airborne gospel). None other than floor peelings
Are the germinal things that sprout hedge walls,
dulling what’s foreign, callousing digits
where fingernails aren’t quite doing the trick.
Gnaw cobs if it’s not enough! (say: is
The opposite of entropy extropy
or just reasonable
Falling from up there, the Word did not cleave, did
not backdrop “sky” behind “clouds”–
It wasn’t just man made it “blue.” Yes,
we’ll know the extent of containment
When our coats are knit of renegade
follicles and our grime is face powder.
[see the response: “the raw spot of this…”]