Friday, August 10, 2012

“Will You Please Let Her Alone, Dr Freud?”

Red is the new red as we went down the street. The word street is the old word for straining to find straight. We took red as the word. Red is when they say sorting. There in the new offing, the old republic and democracy. Days came and went, with red streaks at dawn. There a reading of red that can be red readily. Meaning is as green as the day is livid. Red is the new livid. When you red, you gone to new red.

Taste is the new average.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Why Do We keep These

As a youth with bear claws, I influenced Robert Lowell. He was 907 years old, I was a trifle. Inklings dripped from his poetry page. I told him there were eagles in the bay, sleeping on forgotten foundries slipping silently into wet regret. He said he was busy with broccoli.

I told him broccoli invents a green spire that consumes the thought of Mars (the planet). He said his wife radiated in a plop. I asked if he knew what plop was. He drank himself insane, in reply. The year was 1959. I never knew which wife he meant.

Insane is not so bad, when you are gifted, without gunk, I advocated like polis. Robert Lowell told Robert Grenier that a poem has exclusion built in. Robert Grenier scribbled something that changed the horizon. Project Poetry ate a third of all known adjectives until steam in Greenland melted the thought of something else. Everybody has to wear underwear.

We all relate to grey clouds, with foam backing.