she's / attached / to that goose
phew, i love that bob grenier!
great example of the teentsy lions. (lines.)
How is everybody today? i wrote this poem:
Presentiment,
gentian, animalistical.
Pause, the brief tilt:
microsoft word has a horrible vocabulary,
and doesn’t make the future more anxious
for tilths and tragopans?
Ars fluff.
How many pairs of shoes
damn the pavements of late capital?
How many Roman emperors does
it take to compare American Presidents
to Barbarians? How now?
Steve’s Thou. Martin Buber’s.
December 9, 2005
great example of the teentsy lions. (lines.)
How is everybody today? i wrote this poem:
Presentiment,
gentian, animalistical.
Pause, the brief tilt:
microsoft word has a horrible vocabulary,
and doesn’t make the future more anxious
for tilths and tragopans?
Ars fluff.
How many pairs of shoes
damn the pavements of late capital?
How many Roman emperors does
it take to compare American Presidents
to Barbarians? How now?
Steve’s Thou. Martin Buber’s.
December 9, 2005
posted by jared | 12:57 PM
2 Comments:
Wasn't my thou, I
swear, cop, nobody
saw me set it like a bomb
in a brown paper
bag pulled
over my head. She
& I kissed once inside
the cropped crease
while the sun was
[public]. Green-
burnt parks now coil clouds
toward rain, though. Cops
click two steps behind me,
glow themselves.
** ** * **
An ashing: final
ferns in rain --
a park's sound. Distracted, others,
moths brightening inside
their memories, held hands
as if carbon
rivulets could scribble paths here with
epitaphs for light & heat --
boilerplate, yes, but
adequate in time.
(Wherever she went moths went
& were. I always made
to chase her argent
badge.)
** * ** *** * *** **
Some hopeless cause, some opaque
alliance in the unfamiliar
char, in the long tin
rain & out-of-focusness --
was enough for thou
& thou went off. The bag
sank inward
(was sodden).
Thou went off --
it wasn't me. Sworn
affidavit: Death-moths
that fell to feathering
the general poverty,
death-ashes & the crowd
that hurried, chaos-ful,
away, all mere
facts adding grist
to legends of a crow-
footed crank, a swan-
necked debtor (unto who,
a dark? His own?), a nobody
who skulks in pointy-
toed boots through
town rain-shadows &
enantiodromias,
who peeks (should eyes think
to throw a crosstown glance
through their bag-
holes), elfin,
thou-less,
into his mirrored hair,
remembering
thy thigh.
i enjoy the dueling (duo-ing) poems!
Post a Comment
<< Home