Sunday, November 29, 2009

Love is a Dangerous Necessity

Certain Ballads

It's said that he resisted and they beat him with sticks in the first report for Pilgrim he claims to be a musician, claims to be in a Broadway band trading choruses, playing chorus for chorus, as in a streetfight, so jealous wage your experts so they sent him to Creedmore, a New York facility for electro convulsive therapy Mercury and crickets have my mind in common, he'd explain on the piano bench coordinating hallucinations into Dartaniun A manifestation of cycling time

She had hid his shoes, to keep him from leaving saying He is in a state of grace, he practically asked me to do it, actually, but she had too many adverbs, too many qualified actions, indicating too many urgings, and asunder How we were staggering together through the streets where they keep flags and yachts until the morning watched us lean indoors, a terrible ordinary day How we were staggering through the streets together between flags and yachts, forming calluses we wouldn't even notice on the bottoms of our empty footage how bearable you've made it, beyond my wildest motives

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Our Ships

Because every thought is either a memory or a desire, the world pulls away on both sides

Because every thought is either a pact or a future, the world peals away, my boat sighs.

My total rises tidal-like a temporary cliff

don't fall

Don't fall smell like you remembered it, how you wanted it too

many futures for one ship And so, we have stopped thinking like quit thinking and we like it,

and we forget ahead

Monday, November 23, 2009

Are there some things you would like to say but have not been able to, because no one ever asked you the right questions?

George Russell Reads my Mind and it goes

I don't believe in freedom. I don't think anything like that exists. In the world or in music.

I think there are higher laws, though, and when you move under higher laws you operate under fewer laws thus moving into a state of relative freedom as compared to being under numerous, smaller laws.

And even then, the life of any idea depends on the way it is used because if it's used in the wrong way for too long a time, it may die, totally, even though it may have been born with great energy/freedom


The jungle is a skyscraper (in a portrait about being

In a portrait I saw of the living sky when I was spying on the living
way up in the rugged electricity of law raising. Freedom
was an idea, which didn't exist, it was snatched toward our tongues like minor greetings,
or lunch money and other adventures scheming to become intuition, so they have a future, they chose a country


if freedom did exist these songs,
which are places, would disappear into its begging, please be everywhere.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Contrast/Quick-Quick-Slow/ Waltz for Soldiers (who) Switched in the Field

When you spot your lover, looking for a vein with cotton on an arm/lung, or turning on the oven or from a profane trembling, becoming numb with pleasure and someone says 'if you wake up now, it won't be too soon,' and you trust them again, enough to buckle beneath the tide which is dense but empty, like the wad of cash he watches back, back-then, and all these rumors, levees in the webs that hold our lips together, tugging at the soon (not-yet) fortresses of shy dandelion binding the breath undone or somewhere else. Everywhere else, because the soft bodies scatter so well, so unlike the wealth and so-on, bypassing the mind so-well like catastrophes or like miracles or cause I felt like it.

Suddenly is gradual

Monday, November 16, 2009

Now. the skepticism looks misplaced/Literal Abstractions

His face is an attitude
(about the void)
So when
On a warm day
I feel this sorrow from enjoying it so much..
It disappears to the tune of my bias,
for us --jive-ass--Shucks, I'm flattered by such an exclusive,
gentle, use of nowhere

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Sweet I Guess


him in the morning reaching across the banner of his sunshaddow into the please/gold of my high yellow

Neat, even. No more ice from the machine shop or binges of scrutiny from the not knowing or even needing, no more right time/ alltime, they are trite rituals of the mule in my elbow on the table, I told you was a pew and you began to pray, root for my, my, my, root for prior, the discipline stutters in reverse, for fun, for the first time the road is empty except for how young we are in the wheelbarrow engine barging in on our parents, letting them continue on the ledge of a hulahoop, getting neutral like circle vessels looting their ways across my chest middlemost of the middle, where there is shade and it reflects some kind of haven next in the distance, some kind of hymn, mumbled or insinuated with joy for bait for joy is sorrow unmasked, take an unpacked stadium and put us in the way of its emptiness which
I, by you, put on

Saturday, November 7, 2009

The Wages of War is Love

'I cannot believe the conditions that produced a situation that demanded a song like that'

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Pessoa/ Amnesia

And let our uttered reminiscences come at odd moments and then be broken off,

Let us, with greater quiet, love our uncertain life

Let us watch it flowing and learn that life is passing and we are not holding hands--


[Let us hold hands]

He was the camera black of the highway, in fact, he was the highway itself and I packed him with drive, stale tobacco, the Talkboat, [why do you evade facts]

In the world we'd made there were no sports announcers, only players, they played with a live jazz band and a score board and that was all and the spectators watched the game wildly, squeezing one another's hands for the suspense, for no one mentioned anything because mentioning wastes the spirit [you already know, what hovers between penalty and pretty soon it ceases to matter, the athletes are dancing/clandestine/answers to your trancelike nearness, like nearness and trances. The scandal is leaving, the scandal is changing hands, approving of itself, letting us

more and more ramps, more and more ways off the bland delirium of restraint

Monday, November 2, 2009

Triptych II

Operating Table

Colossal Youth

Civil Twilight of the Idols/Beauty Number 2

You have a way of looking at atoms until they matter, head in a 7 part mast part dread part melancholy part Nazareth part that I imagine as if we were whole Crucial damage and crucial salutations, you would have said, with distribution the tribute gets its silence from its pep from its silence. Two bodies make a circle and roll down a hill at the again-fast of silence is fast and tentative until it lands: Antenna on the picture zebra plugged picture with Oprah's face appearing every time it fits the air. She's talking about discounts or is it she's sounding about discounts and talking about Sidney Poitier in Guess who's coming to the dinner on hill I came down, was invited down, the time began to lilt and get little and voluptuous and mink and willing