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Showing posts from 2014

Sword Dance for the Latter Person

Sometimes the stand there in the face of bending while the actual season simpers offering stab wound or panic but the wheel seizes an ivory leaf, the green of escape or town where rivers or just a package from when the time was right. Later eves, or eaves, and the special sane brushes the talk show off simple margin, you are reading people. People are the marvel when it becomes time, but time is an extra word, too much, something gets lost. Translation was a door last year.

Sword Dance Simply

Those days become, the rock exists. Garden basks in book. The eminence of colour shows bullion season, littoral calling, we free hold. What tempo culls the structure of obedience to dead past? Dying is a name for lack of effort, or just a blink. Pity creates a lack of maximum when we need a thunder clap and clouds that file for rain. Words make no sense, the sense lives as it will. Government nest piles on, in the terms of horde, or orderly explanation in a nation of nothing. You say the ledge, the ledge owns nothing. Nothing is the greatest price.

Welcome to the Age of Electric Pants

The process is simple: relax in your gorilla suit. Every piece of a story welcomes a new nature. This is a positive message, like maple syrup in spring. Those people in their rage bring argument and cholesterol. It’s like Republicans can’t dance. They just wilt efflorescence like it was going out of style. Which it is. The trees seem vague, like downtown Detroit. So many answers to so few questions; we just mock an unsatisfied maple tree. Blue stories are red everyday. These are not our people, this is not our town. Capitalization begins with everything and everything’s in the way.

The Average Age of Time

Where the wind went was some time ago. Leaves of a vital purpose turn browner maunder. Rains rush in tactics of space adventure. A wind across a parking lot makes discoveries and ramps. The sky boldly fills. Today the ether of planning rumbles with reports of rain. The system collects its moments, as do people. We are alive in our placing, the neural venture, the stutter of space. Endlessness makes just one part of time. Other parts adjust the town. Snow will be a sentiment. Daffodils even now are dedicated. This flurry of reports is the definition of exact. They stay intact for the bracing wind and choose rain in the streets. Autumn rises exactly in time, for the time that it takes. The skies are not cloudy all day.

Molecule Found in Broccoli

Struck banjo time for day in light. An angel called, the light thru tree. Every moment a hum inside. Turn the colour green the way you ought to be. Square field called night fits time to stories, old and new again. Telling the edge of things the core of things. Confuse the dragon or the wretch.

Aptitude Test

It’s a start, one night called autumn. One moment called, one after moment sent night. Somewhere in between, some time in the settling of each word and other words. The autumn in the current sky reveals dark open field or orange sentence leaves. Feels great and fine, even after the sun finds clouds. Night varies day and we have to adjust. Even the trees know, and their words are colour. All leaves add colour to colour, reclining in colour. Soundly beating heart, or no longer. This is just the time.

Tender Branch

Comatose regions fit us with plenty. She died on a day called Saturday. Not making this up. A perfect sentence tells us something while the clouds. In an effort and surprising, the gleam when death says word is magnificent. An approach, while we are bodies, and the trying means love. A stanza is a break in the action. Action is change. The next moment, or the sentence that says so. The previous three moments were attached to the one 42 nd back. Do you understand time too? A sentence is a complete thought, completed on or in the field. Time is a magnet or fence, it could also be a tree. We are people, mostly, and we enjoy our tree.

Can’t Sing. Can’t Dance.

The South Pole , land of peach and shaving cream. The North Pole , fun sunless bung. The creators of misery arrive, improving angst with measures of norm. This is the cleric’s realm, the idealist base, the ringing bell. In season as the forces of good and evil stop to talk, boiling made frozen heart. Poetry becomes a synonym for something else. Metaphor breaches exactly right Republican, downwind the Democrat doubt. Free range chickens. Inasperate the fertile words of snow and structure, kinds of population, miniseries to see. Ocular profile of the silly season behaves badly. Western culture has long positioned itself as distinct from Antony Gormley. It's time to rethink the purpose of misunderstood.

Hello Chris, Hello

Republicans, and plants, have feelings. Rocks, estrogen, testosterone, have feelings. Republicans have a sort of feeling. Tides feel tides as tides. Republicans dash about with the words for feeling. Democrats are cracks in the mantle but feel the name of the mantle. Republicans have ontological motivation, with feeling. Chris was words saying words, brief bright. No Demo-Republicans were easy to hear.

Another Last Word

Tears make a conversation between those of us and those of us. There is a gap called life. You are the prime then the number expands to precincts, cities, exactitude of love. No words gulp and slop over the rails of reason, not this brightened day. Trail autumn while Chris has words. Words are our distance and close, both in the net and fret. So the few few few chords and that enjoyment. We meet in the strong and weak words, chords, I love you. Love you love you, many times the instant.

Transit

In the spare hope of learning time, arriving to know, the radical in the world is some word left stray. We try the impact and the discussed angle. Bending light plays the tree and rock. A moon of obvious ocean shines until autumn. Autumn becomes the next plant, next stream, next fox in scurry. Today the autumn of fall, gracious just for coolness, shows a transit in the love of today. The town moves us to move.

While Apple Touts Battery Life

No secret to red apple, delight is light in the beam. A word will last, word will be a hand. At a pace of colour, thru the seas of sky, remember and remember. This is a day of fresh and autumn, telling colours in the world. All we can have is hands together, hands in the hands of the world.

Solar Time

We will believe certain totals, certain microcosm, certain seas. Each verb in the sky matches a noun of the world. We continue to speak and the speaking is love. The blue trees have moved to dilation of red success in the pioneering way.

How Do You Do? (Calling You)

The sky shares a simple rain and grey peace of morning news. We join in a gather, tying words to an effort. The sun is a could that looms for moments, some and all. We knew all time in its scent of rolling numbers. It provides a music that rolls a piper chord, mornings all a-bloom. Today is nature even if facts don’t exist. Just a dream of three strings sounded together or even more connection. The dream feeds house sparrows in their launching shrubs. Stand in the floating room, partners, this day, this day.

For Beth in this Time of Life

After the night, only the one night, house sparrows are trees. Small trees, bush and shrub entities, roots and branch alive. After that night, the reflected world, the house of sparrow dream. In the flick of seed or what on the expansive ground, levee breaks or night is only then. In the day of autumn, the one day, the only day, and house sparrow tribe is in tree or floor of earth in the sky of god’s image. The splay of slide guitar in the town of music, in the breath of time or space (we don’t count a lot). No death exists in the house of sparrow.

Annihilation Occurs, Resulting in the Production of Two

left in the distance of each word, blue trail of sky project, doctors say thing… we remark the delicate sky with efflorescence of booster rockets, kindled sentences, trains in the marsh… positional object in the sky of hope, word plant, document drawn seasonal piece… soon the adjective greases its montage, soon the variable verb functions loose cannon, soon the noun is nothing talking… adverb lightly in the breaking wave, constant impasse, a select phew… positron trumpet.

Obama to Vow Relentless Effort to Wipe

A town called Tempered Evening called, the blurry light of grampus moon and recent states of affliction. Can we all just visit east of where we are, only to touch a human arm? No warriors leave the station when the big Amtrak megatron moves over the cool landscape. The station resumes its documentation, which means a leery heaven full of don’t. We can only surmise blackened gusts, with the effort of William Blake as portal, and of just as crazy Emily Dickinson, her pivotal gingerbread declining. Diamonds make distinct letdowns, as also the verbs that strays over the possible road toward what the capture means.

Republicans Read Bricks, Democrats Allocate Splatters

True night is elaborate and vented. Such the stars, the wind from west or east, greening dim of trees. In the morning, tides of blue pull breath and eyes. We are in the centre of the outward upward or trying to decide. Not every blink contains a lifetime but woods in wild make seasons change. Today is the only day to say today. Otherwise, resistance stops the ball.

Participles Cannot Stop Parting

Cool plains situate the participle of the understood sentence. Earth becomes protracted formation of directions and gravitational delusions. Sweat is a function of non-sweat. Fire rendered as smoke escapes teepees and sweat lodges thru holes anticipated by the elements of thought. A poem exacts a kinder distress, with each word naming a place that escapes the point of teepee and sweat lodge. Charles Olson was a town. Trees stood before Lt. William Clark, and he wrote down distinction. Elks stopped thunderstorms by assuming ratio of life in historical terms. Elks let numbers roll. Charles Olson created entropy by stopping entropy. Human ozone remained in the air of fining. Filtered European sputter speaks a cant of can’t. Wallop canyon, years of gage.

In the Try the Fulsome Clouds

Talk the possible of stop the talking. The wind in the death is whirled in poetry. Sensational is seasonal, like Quirks honour quarks honour quacks beer. Event of language we will try of honour quickening. The definition the legion in definite must be definite.

I Really Expected Buoyancy to be Required

Animate in heaven of awful duck on long pond and deep foggy experience. Welcome to the range of vocabulary. Undulant web of spider crossed with expressive text messages insults supreme being incorporated in a picture of impossible beard. Swarms of literate onions reveal layers of literate onions. This is praxis, ye students of words consisting of praxis and ye . You are beyond ewe, sample size one. No more angular words exist, now. Please reactivate account.

Brace for Funeral, Call for Peace

Illuminated in dawn light, like a possible grey fortune. Elite fighters with messages for the transom. Outflow of the radical by steps and bounds. New day in a research grant. The people, as a concept, arrive post haste. Trouble arises in the wavy lines around us. Proof is a natural affliction. Poor people resist emblems and find change. The chance of a dollar turned over, with a concealed hand full of trust, with waves lapping the parliament, with stones associating with the rapid water, with trials treated as traffic laws, and the natural bend in the river. This is where we stay sometimes. The notion arises and becomes published. Like a rock it sticks to its confines. Natural deception squeezes thru the trees. Today’s date plants itself in the homestead. Time is only one word after all. After all is a profound mistake.

This Country that This People Seem to Have Been

There were days when The Federalist, cool as waves. And the Eastern light shone thru every morning window. Yet states were blending and called to various tunes. A wind blew the silky curtain of a picture. Violence became programmatic. Those Roman legions remember the trek to the bitter end. They remember the trek again. And further on, the sun seems faint. Historically, we see a beginning with a brief mention. Toes were stepped on, an ocean threw things forth. Seawash looked to lower ground, addressing the masses without pity. So many thought they were clear in their understanding. The riots of the people formed in a gastric region, colluding with essential items and noteworthy proceedings, treating mercy like a smell. Topic sentences were brought forth and expatiated upon. Every word had another in tow. These days and the flowers we used to see. Each impeding engine recreates a prolonged bad sentence. Fine trees with their green effort circle around us. The word for that is almo

Momentum

The signal comes   a ruse of grey   clouds, the plain of tomorrow. On top of all the house sparrows twitter, seasons simplify   and expand. The people rely on news. As grey as soon rain, and meaning to forget the path, still awash or replied to, the mood of growing on gross on. Each sentence relies on past section. Time   makes spaced between thinking someone there. Someone is thing. Time is there in random.

The Dignified Protesters Went Home at Dusk

We are the possible lake, strict lines today. If gulf and weather reel us: portion, membership, lineage. It cannot be more frank and seen. Imagine the effort of blue on the scale of one tree. One tree in the scene, one place of nouns and full of action. We resemble stadia and the practice that says, Sound the vowels with pictures . Moments ago roan pony in the certain hills, and mercy swaying.

43 Seconds

My love re-explodes with this exploded design with Garry Booth's exploded pad, with very little in the way of story, with cooking spray, lovingly deposited: a lovingly written novel written from the perspective of the day my brain exploded.

Sample Poem, #398

Exceptional progress could be seen in the exceptional blue of the earnest exceptional summer sky. Blue stirred as the unexceptional example. Means of payment returns life blood in statutory quadrants. In little words, that means some have won the right. Winning is a spirit, inspiring elves who quickly surmount the dogma of dragon on summer eves while waiting for wending fireflies. We could go on. The earnest payment of diligence certifies the opening of all verbs qua nouns ending in –ing. People keep moving.

Google Agrees to Stop

Funeral procession is a numb stasis. When I say I sign the logic, the bills run into children. This is the inevitable clopping sound down a hall. It isn’t like a river is clean of fray. We move on, tho it depends on a mighty emergency. The state of state is being stated. You could be morose with the emptying but how can a globe hold everything? The sides are round! The people are around. Even children could be people, if it comes to that, but they must die round circles like the rest of us. We have a contest that ranks. We are not oceanic in the civil way, only tidal excess. The symphony ends with a message from the doctor who said this is a dead child. The doctor was kidding, children don’t. The subject performed an invocation for remorse. Remorse refused the attempt.

There Are Still More to Go

You are coloured by word intestate. A frequency in the spoon of pent. A rocket seems to glow with concern, but it will land. It will document some moment called today. It knows cancer the field, the finding, the human battery. This is why we have word processors. We are bound in fashion, likely gravy, the patient seems to see something. Nothing controls the panning camera, only a canyon, only a melting aggregate of ice and nowhere. This is why we have words or no more. They are fine the way they are or are not even home. They are not in a heaven or tone, just a room full of room to be nowhere. Your vote said so, and the doughnuts of taking leave. Language is a gross alliance. Sarah Palin tans. Rick Perry is principal in the school of for what rights are right in the right way, today. Not only leave-taking but children. Which is worse is the saddest part.

Invention of Daddy-o

Dr Fu Man Wasichu realizes aggro pant suit. Under storm dent Cochise filament, noodles of nicety brought toward Red Rider Red Rider. Popular song mixed with prevent. Senator Topic Sentience (manchild) dents all off the record. Spoon, the present sense, denies elbow as input of arm. More to come.

So Anyway, Version 9000 and Something

Obviously Allen said he believes a congressional resolution expressing remorse (I could just feel myself struck down, Allen added swiftly) Allen said essentially what needed to be said (I don’t have any business being here, he added enthusiastically) Everybody stay cool, said Allen hopelessly, momentarily interrupting his Ommmm (Slowly he added, If it works, everything could be up for consideration) I felt anything but dramatic at the time, said Allen ruefully (Evenly he added, We will now move as fast as we can) Humans couldn't respond fast enough, Allen said previously (Delightfully he added he will only sing in public when the Confederate flag is not just a symbol of regional pride) What I did was wrong, hurtful to myself and my family, Allen said aggressively (I might have picked out a more appropriate place, he added whimsically) The Bush campaign is aware of this announcement, Allen said accidentally (I do think it rattled them a bit, he added deliberately) In a

Regard Pantywaist as Norm

Fly to dent moon. When the victims of gravity waken, you will be responsible. You will be allowed 17 words. Obamacare collar. As poetry, people are straw. Dry, pointy, awaiting alluvial moments. This poetry that is this (poetry), works like paint. Your young tribe sleeps in. Sweat is spackle. What is spackle in the divine river? Please listen to me. Your sweat is mining. Mine is swell. The funny thing is, the funny thing was. Refusing to do anything is going to be the big question.

Our Golden Monkey

Present wind, forming a basis for confluence, in learned sparkle. Such sunlight evading shadow. Evening dreams portray only a low burden, kindling next to next fire. Morning days return as new days. Night fractures each figure. Dark as different concludes with a springtime sorting. Brusque buds then if oily the burst. Training in mentation on the way to the ballpark. Sudden comes suddenly. Aperture frames often. These days resemble last year, into the sentence forming the next wave. A narrow passage controls us. Bull farts like new.

The Thing About Rivers Now (An Ode by Aaron Copland)

The Assabet and the Sudbury Rivers emerge from the earth near each other and determined. They pour downward on and thru the landscape, glad in gravity. Near Concord, great, they meet and enter the Concord River, that spans the time of saving. This is what the dream is, even in the wars. Concord too becomes tributary, in what we now call Lowell. The land did not always have names but we live in the words we make. Lowell in its vigour and millwork needed Boston. The Middlesex Canal arrived by shovel, until a train could do the job. Your history produces environment and commerce. Tell your children. We have reached the end of clauses, only to discover more clauses. Grandeur-rich Assabet grafts energy in water to the presumption that work is life. Doughty Sudbury rustles towards a feisty downhill splash, seemingly content that Allen Bramhall took birth in a hospital near its ramble. And then the mighty Concord, that deftly passes mansions and enjoys the sweet fertilizing taste of human

In the Time it Takes to Stay Here

The sun shines on Erin's birthday. Numbers change and change again but grand sun overlays the vista. Trees become full of where we are, and time produces shadows. We live in the moments between other moments while all that spins with the wind. That wind makes a formal breath and a tone to open, inward, outward, always. In the vast singing that we call Universe, a bird compares with anything. Just now, house sparrows produce a pattern of embarkation, into the natural wind of being still. Call them rain clouds, porticos, ambassadors from translation. They survive the time they do not survive. As do we all, as gentle plants and animals. Clocks plant everywhere, with their entity of numbers. No advice can be given, just a charged moment and the native embrace. We all long to hear the songs that can be made. The sun shines because the sun shines because the sun can shine, in its loving explosion. We meet to meet again, in the rapid moments that time gives us. Erin, it's your birthda

Apology

How you, O Little Puppies, have been affected by my financial advisers, I cannot tell, even the great steroid experiment Arnold Schwarzenegger would be baffled; but I dig that they almost made Poopy Pants shit beans--so persuasively did they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of, like, whatever. But of the many crappy shits told by them, there was one which quite amazed me--it's like oh my gawd when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this, when they were certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to be anything but a great speaker, did indeed appear to Poopy Pants most shameless--unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of , like, whatever; for if such is their meaning, I admit that I am totally stoked. But in how different a way from them! Well, as I was saying, they have scarcely spoken whatever at all; but from Poopy Pants you shall hear the wh

24 Visits to the Nail Salon

The Inquisition resembles framed debate, with flowers transmuted into toads. Toads are all right, fictions with tongues. But we must remain cognizant that climate change and claptrap produce farms. Why is the big unknown. Benches of grey strokes produce futile farms. Fluency exercises create our future. We aren't tractors, we are men and women, perhaps a few lorn children, okay some dogs, cats, a dolphin or two, some wax figurines, a bit of lint, the point is, we create meaning just by standing by as time passes and then passes again. This is the signal moment, complete with commas. Semi-colons mark the moment when something included could be left out, straightway to the center of backing away. That's why we bully children. When not bullying children or implying immigrants or examining our inner lint, we have the scrumptious duty to appear focal. The farm must feed the billion openings that may say Yes to the right No . It's a program or problem, whatever Meani

In the Warmth of Jumpiness

That place next to calling cards, it remains ideal for the remembrance of rivulets. Each sky in memory reacts to certain facts. Your life as a barometre. Today is an exclusive reference point, and you will drink coffee. When coffee is invented, everyone will dance. Today is National Beyoncė. Possible language blusters and fit clouds seem partial. The coffee flavour of calling cards strives for best rivulet. Indications refer to place names, which only appear at night. Our love for National Beyoncé points toward a western moon of running fever. Conditional cats still curl up, with politic calling cards. This is a nation of pants. There have not been such smooth jumpiness since the eminent spells of Ringo. Report charm to your superiours. Bruce Andrews has a tan. Meanwhile, the wainscotting seeks approval. Violins full of sestinas mock the barometre. The sun smells like parting gift. Luckily the calling cards remain sincere. They bond with feature coffee. The rectangular pa

Teenager Critical After Shootings

Prejudge Parametres. Call Spade a Spade. Take a moment. Open World. Outgas. Sort by nature. Start ball rolling. Apply tax breaks. Recognize mist. Spell Lucifer. Base logic on constraints. Boil oil. Extend World. Cash words. Sort by Indolence. Speed up Process. Tax breaks, tax breaks, tax breaks. Remove process as a conviction. Reboot process. Close World. Reopen World. Stir.

Regulatory Painting of the Sun

The grand sun, lifted into the high standards, resumes its peerage. Each morn, the ocean blue or grey bespeaks some scatter of fact and scandal. We try each period, and in a following wake. Troughs of what we call opinion form stupid. Some boats have no cause. The name of this operation is kitty cat, exactingly demeaning. Now what, when 11 am seems probable? Even temper abiding the diet of change. We hate the sense that normal doesn't last. It makes us have friends who talk on a slope. The basis for this privilege remains out of sight. It could even last the day. The angry image of containing seems self-taught. It provokes a barnacle on some diffident pier, colliding with other ideas and means. Proposals then sink into the vision of trough, as human as ghetto. And all the names and numerations rattle the big average cage. The sun seems partial but it isn't really. It doesn't have the words for that.

New York Poetry

waited until explicable, waited till document in hand. seaworthy explained while first reaching these bonds of tempering, in moments. riches of a music, say it: the proud, endless river spent in explanation. thus in preamble was the narrative form begun. here’s the next step, the particular box and latitude, so you may wonder. the dirty way is the only way, in until. and it should be explosionary, foremost. with sea air, spattering social deeds in world view beyond a few ratty miles of pavement. crisscrossing the nation is the story till it is about someone who has your same date. position cries in the dark wilderness, the sour notes of penetration. here, ladies and gentlemen, Manhattan Island… poetry isn’t excusable. the buffers are rich, amazingly so. talk of going central, and watch the excavation work. the city is set loose. large enough to contain so much, it is small enough to be believable, sometimes. yet your tour is mindless, loose on the roads. St Mark’s Place saw names s