Tuesday, September 01, 2015

Dissonant sports metaphors seem prepared for a gullible ally, hon.
Like preparing the red matter.
(There are no guarantees in risk engineering up close.)

Dr Who gadgetry from the future,
How can this be put?
Hey went from one thing to another, came back.

As a guy I’m done with Malthus festivals’
Black sweaters in the woods,
Tented command centers for negotiation,
And I’ve had it with my thigh, the one you lift.

Monday, August 31, 2015

That’s all right.
Another time.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

You, my man,
Pastoral you and all it initiates take humane power in socialist space. It’s rare.

Home base, hierarchal Finland: say it’s working through the population.

We’re the entire crew. The socialist’s way.

Two smoky dogs tracking boots in drizzle, shining from sight, playing by stacks of storm windows in restless composure translators can’t reach.

Now where are they?

The wetlands are working this through. (And there’s a new plot — those words we had and didn’t have were consequences. The milieu has been bad. Bad is good, since we know enmeshed values constitute our pit bullhood.)

But I take no liberties writing you now, bubble footed in dark briefs. I have a dream of fair housing: Free-range sunlight in the clerestory to our lair… Some of us are going there after work. Would you like to come?

Saturday, August 29, 2015

On a human ~ ant landscape, god is the ant.


Yet our guardians are tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; herein the corporation is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

Friday, August 28, 2015

When is as soon as today? How do I say please, John? Circumstances say it.


Again there’s no natural retrospective because nowhere
Now might tomorrow’s flow of ideas be so boldly hidden ..

Right. It’s past. Passed. What you say reminds me ..
It’s a contraption.

That’s what we say to get “thrown in.” (I remember it starts with poetry students making “circumstances” up.) Welcome, nowhere else!

Where can we enjoy sobriety, the doo (implicative space), beautiful, well pronounced! Does it matter I’m thinking of contradictions until women rule and we go kitty up, so flaming kitty to have nothing retro, rolling figure / ground tension into many feminisms, using little or no math.

It’s ideal. Invite someone missed, John, sing more to wade out above what’s sung

Wade out above the beautiful, well pronounced.

That’s what we yell to joy, lightness, yes
Thrown in doo (where else!) :

The more we wade contradictions
Feminisms are re-reading us in fully sensory hellcat wrath.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

I am transitory.

This is what then? “A moment of empty solidity.”


Anyone can take this personally,
including me.

A tree in the wind.

How is it lit? 

Tall with liquid arms;

another is hit and run.

They’re plants from one deity.

That’s what led to our church shifting

toward showdowns at the riverbed, O

for fuck’s sake. Impulsive.

Back to work.

Show’s over. Go ahead. Go

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

It’s irreparable.

But it’s in the repair shop because

It is the repair shop.

I’ll do what I can. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless;

Different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams that forgive me for almost everything
but that belated audition,
trapping you if you let go while yielding authority.

I .. Hey

.. I talk in a low register to get inside my face. My brow sports layers of sleep
relief, aching in baby, cutely accruing intimacy to belie despair over zero gravity.
So there’s no dead end!

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Fearless presence bears repeating.

A wild or perhaps even a good guess as to what readers crave is a byproduct of becoming a decent reader. One writer rarely reads alone, and that’s part of the saga of collectivity and simultaneity. She and others pick up similar texts, comparable projects; snowballs start flying. When a writer thinks in public about what she’s reading, she’s taking aim and will be aimed at in turn, pro and con. This is one yarn of opinion acclimatization, hardly superfluous.

The signature concern is a reader’s experience. It’s peculiarly nepotistic, another point, that so many writers simultaneously figure out readers’ expectations within multiple, extra literary contexts, politics, nonprofit cultural construction, corporate performance theory and the like.

Thinking more decentrally: A brazen writer like Nicole Brossard distinguishes herself taming her otherness and the other-directedness that she (writer) and (s)he (reader) share.

You don’t want her festivity so much as your investigation into her iconoclasm. It would be abetting deeper juxtaposition to bracket one’s enjoyment just to explore alarm and vacuity anyone else had previously not known. How does she know? How does she improvise? What timing(s)? How do you account for a received notion “being in the present”? Even better.

on levait la tête on aimait les petits arbres
derrière le fer forgé du cinquième étage
personne ne tombait jamais
plus bas que notre habitude de la vie

[taking pleasure in these trees, looking up
through the 5th floor wrought iron
nobody ever falls lower than
this, what we make our habit in life]

The narrator who claims personne ne tombait jamais speaks for me and anyone who wants and takes enjoyment with no palpable fear of falling.

While translating freely is not always the fairest compliment a writer may pay another, it is one entry for empathy (How does she improvise?) as well as beginning to appreciate Brossard’s command of what is suggested here (How does she know?). And in four short lines we stumble across habitude. It is a writer’s answer, Brossard’s answer for now, to be in the present.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Affordable Noh. That’s us with big hanging wolf eyes. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to spook breathing
pedagogy when we meet somersaulting in /

What goes around then comes gasping, the more irregular the breathing —
looks like he’s breathing! A spoon worm lives inside the womb,
a male redback dives inside the reproductive tract!

into his mates’ fangs just to get eaten while copulating!

Sunday, August 23, 2015

I’m going to leave you in the middle of the city where you belong, you robot.