where is your embodiment? this small obsession of becoming and collapse. or the
desire to be in the world as Image or as Voice. or a knowing or known clatter, prostration.
the world:
in madrid we made a mistake. unable to be big about & admit, we claim holy connection, drunk all the time, closer to thee, vipashyana, in madagascar's dust mites and i
meant so many times to. a lacereation and drain just yesterday then by morning agian suspicious and not reflecting
a shine. [note: place names; specific signifiiers, play w/ make arbitrary: chance] you send those comrade poems, coupled, crumbled, messianic.
and i should be but am not saying: just tell me what happened that night of the full
moon, as if amnesiac and unable to sort. alternately then, how nice it is to all sleep during
a shared darknesses, sieve. or wisely:
What is the primary duty of repair?
spitting out "prophecy" as if it were bad grammar, back in those goblin days before
michelle spelled out in richmond, before i had expanded my vocabulary: decedent, aporias,
sheol, elegiac, switchblade, otiose.
spruce is a street. to go down. to look for. so impossible. anne sends a quotation
in the midst of words i wanted: in the impossible break of a single line "had beautiful teeth",
i break.while inventing kentucky bluegrass and alcoholism. [who knew what a bestseller either of these would be? i'm laughing 'all the way
to the bank', as they say] yeah yeah yeah how come you want to treat my baby so bad, how come you
want to treat me so bad, baby? good to you, have i been? when we were practicing human. my father told me so many stories with
place names (michigan, lake), given names, histographies laid out with punch lines or morality moments, and i don't remember any of them. only lake michigan, where i could never
imagine him rowing with a picnic basket, my mother, a calm. how much time is enough time? all i think i feel i've stolen from someone who've
already said it before. as if the mind were a doubt. this is the thing: i'm trying to understand
how much i loved him [her] [them], and how badly i expressed me. then something would be,
salved.
silly California, vomitus paradise. to sleep you must resolve to kick someon'es ass. in
the dream, all this terrain is familair to me, not sane, doused in incorrect light, suspended. i don't know what i did before 11oclock, heartless bastards.
Up here, airless but tight, flying, not like a bird, rather, entrapment airborne,
ulterior contradictions, air below, clouded, cushioned, a scenery that has seen itself but
likes to reminiscence. Irritated at signs of time, streaking. over brokerages, its boston, bellows the
clouded mirage. I have no emotional comment.
Departure, conditional to love, and too, a result of. The heavens, big enough after
all. It is not open, but a different kind of density, sidewalks made bigger for less
pedestrian traffic. I could stay here, become fervent in the way I hold the coffee cup, one broken finger
stuck straight. Diana is in brooklyn growing fat with baby cats in masquerade underfoot. I don't see her this time or ever really but drunk, I remember one night with jeni on the upper west side, trying on extensions. It
is in part that desire to be fully engaged, performing against mirrors. Pretty pretenders crowding
the streets. Blue shirts own the 1 line.
As soon named as soon strangeness of living
In other words, leave me alone motherfuckas cause I'm in a position of trust and responsibility then besides, I can't afford to be off my ass. And then to sea. The underlying
violence of Love, sticking its pubescent head out. Its Sunday. What happened to Saturday. Is the vague discovery of a 'missing' Saturday
a real thing if there will just be a next Saturday? Was I ever something to believe in? In which pocket did I leave that "I"? Is "I" ever a thing to miss, a personage to mourn, if the "I" still lives in the
physical body and is capable of rearticulation? If it desires mirrors? History? Or and then narrative
sensibility. If the mirror breaks one can buy another. Consume then recreate then resume an/other
I. History I curse thee, to not be borne in mid-twemtieth century garb, a french feminist
theorist labouring over 'new ideas' to bounce the vernacular mind.
a/synch
Radiating around\-----she bathing him\-----one morning in the house of waking\-----optional temple\-----who makes memory\-----taunting down smith st.\-----made get out of the
way play like a game\-----sense to mock\-----render stolen discourse\-----demons fascinated
much too soon\-----the very large animals were not other elephants\-----she's going to borrow
the car\----- abandoned place\-----in the familiar marketplace tables spread with pastries\-----substitute\----- llibrettos in the bios\-----reaping season\-----blackmailing the lie\-----you you
you you too you\----- the squatter behind the hedges\-----this culture too ashamed to name itself\-----present
interior\- ----condition of skeptical or uncertainty doubt resulting from this\-----prelapcarian\-----he articulated the break\-----it is misty jersey outside today\-----what is the desecration
of identity\-- ---at this point you smiled\-----not sure of how to say enough\-----ideological use
of the woman\- ----three generous enough glass panes\-----lay down your vocabulary\-----simple slip
on trampline\-----not that pronounced fantasy\-----nineteen fifty one and curious\-----men
of the pink goose tribe\-----one requires an object to say cho cho\-----chairs facing the
door as if expecting to squall hello to guests\-----light glanced on window hesitant looked
for spectacular else\-----lost passport in a wild car chase involving dictions\-----
Hearing her own echoes & text as a galaxy of signifiers
________ things catalogued: cross-referenced as '-_____', 'again' 'crime' 'maximus':
