Friday, December 15, 2017

A Pencil as Delightful as Time

The driver turns off the highway...


Later seems like an appellation for a harbour, a touring company. Standing before the slight audience and a poem is glazed eyes. This road? Or some average. It becomes a plan or statements, like sausages in the distance named morning. Late morning, the beginning of a sentence wither smell of clouds and light. The cat sits in the mirror. A sentence wood well enough, with reliant nouns and imaginary verbs. And no birds sing. Appellation arrives later, and the driver turns off the highway. No one is left or right. Only sausages smell like the day of sausages. The road averages out to perplexity, as if a sentence could simulate a road. A more careful performance removed nose hairs. A sentence speaks on condition of not. Ordinary sound bespeaks a road. Off the highway, the driver turned, the highway turned, the highway turned off, the driver turned on. On that moment, rather than in. People certainly learned, to remember what they heard. A smell of clouds and the slanting light of morning sausages, or bread toasted to twilight. Congratulations! You have are qualified to receive (1) Amazon Gift Card of $1000! Like the ordinary driver of anything.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Why I Am Writing Here (a ny poem of somewhere else)

I felt something of very word or was relaxed by pressure. I caved to the freedom to reach definite. I languaged a conscious wading, replete in that way. I talked a good game response. It meant much to be the act, writing down or up. This is a school of thought, and a shoal. It shall please the poetry public. Anyway a long day.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Situational Ethics

That person and/or applied science. Writing
Is one finger. Other fingers meet daily, in
Hand, togetherly. The word just
Made it plain. Ted wrote together. It was always later.
This is the nature of Berrigan Boke.

Gratefully Acknowledges

who left dying
to papered lawyers
excuse of thinking
in time when poems
own time by not
being in
time time
happens when
Ted Berrigan sd 

                           so

Monday, December 11, 2017

Dumped Here

The in wrapping stands August and
petals of bloom, at risk factor asserts
children, bison, those of anything left

Then road for some algorithm
and similitude lichen, that hits
high notes in the very season

Cherubs then and wax creatures
wishing bullets full of clover

like a beaming hill

Saturday, December 9, 2017

We Need Pachelbel in the Senate

Progression states facts loosened rock on slopes the variable of  noise and we

Apart with selfless drift of sand more potable than a spring of own

Casual murk on the topic salient loosened pebble in the falling

A strange of After Language in the real sloping side of daily

Anything returns of simple snow rain sun dexterity

That the pattern says the pattern creates the stone and slope and all the way


Friday, December 8, 2017

The Process of Surrogacy



I am the friend of olive oil, all oil, all olive, all entities and visions of oil and olive, until truck stop, simulated deli, cheese in the life of freshness, an apple called Gertrude,  emphasis on dull remarks, and any Friday, despite people who mean to