One Saturday morning admidst cartoons and commercials
  I smell glasses when I take them from the cupboard
    I mistook a stain on my sheet for a potato chip

Cleaned house today, looked at safes
  a rectangle of white sand


I'm hidden from myself but know where I'm hiding
  "I'm dead to the world"
    This particular memory resembles an old old film
      in the mirror there's a knot
We undress and disappear

In the mountains I lie in an open space
  if I rub my tongue along my teeth once
    the idea of going into the kitchen

Logic is a very good invention
  start running, run and

The fluids of the body paddle until no longer water
  the greatest living sculptors are dogs
    gentleness is not a natural virtue

When I look closely, I see nothing

Trying to sleep is to sleeping what thinking is to life

We had ice-plant fights

Relish this sentence as if it is a conversation

Of no jangle in the mud-tracks
  just like whales my memories leave no trails
    once dead we continue as organic material

Out for a stroll 11 am
  the rabid dog and my childhood
    order occurs to a story afterwards
Walking down 3rd Street
  "We'll populate the National forests with hundreds of trolls!"
Is rain at night black?

When someone says something to me
  this morning we rose simultaneously
    kissed me woven basket kisses

You have come no further in life than the end of this sentence
  bitter muddy oak-bark-and-decayed-pine-needle
    as individuals we feel there is nothing we can do
How is it we've come to value the production of goods
  even after a fouteen hour workday
    came in on the train 11:45 pm

Why reject my words with words of your own
  lifted off barstool by crotch and throat
    you experience no disquietude realizing you're seeing past this
To do something as it comes to mind
  when I was not quite yet a walking child

Eliminate all nonsense from your thought
  deoxyribo nucleic acid
I broke Ken's leg
  we vomit blood for you
Tree!

He looks like Einstein's mentally ill identical twin

Every time I closed my eyes everything
  first I cried
    there was a man who'd worked real hard
      only you know the reason I killed you
When an average intelligence
This story begins with an apology

How'd you like three bills in six weeks
  he sits naked spine curved shiny blue eyes

I wrote a story but it was too long

In handling late-comers
  how long has it been since you've panted
    clear blue or grayed
      a dirt-dull yellow-green ulcerous hedge
        a gull who is blown out over a pure white desert

Since you cannot possibly understand
  Antonin carries the relic
    you are avoiding this
      most people do not understand
        once a war is fought

If you pretend long enough you go insane
  being human is feeling ancient
    we will die the same death as our father
      we are allowed to be savages

If the sky floats as it seems to
  instead of ink I write wwith saliva
    that looks like a place where someone
Stars let loose spume
    if the veins of my body expanded

Night came
  what do you call the shape of a casket?
    I don't do this very often
      I've no idea the conclusion of this
         she gets up at 5:30
I get drunk the night T. gets the abortion
  "the first, and even now still the only hallucination..."

Dishonesty capitalizes on honesty
  between Nature and human beings
    our instinct of survival being diluted
To write in notebooks
  I'm silent, within wide tall borders
Five Card Stud
My father had this strange punishment
  when I was a kid about six years old
The past

I crawl from our little dome tent early
  the mesquite has to be started an hour in advance
    we drive into town every other day
       Loey spends her days
Wild dogs and farm dogs
  the night air smells like milk warming

Too soom my skin will be like raisons'
  the strip of grass
I pick lice from your hair and eat them

Of part are we an only piece nuclear
  when returning to our eyes' touch
    what he was was thirty-one years old
      parallel cold-dead winter trees

The value of having been created conceals me
  my childhood lost its meaning
    thrive less the obvious melodious evening's wet air
      simple disorder is unforgettable
        the desire to understand

There is a distance between you and me
  good gentle friend, harbinger of knowledges
    what do you do?
I am thru sense

Night separates from darkness
  foot ankle shin knee thigh
    you sing voices
      on certain pink nights
        carries as whining siren carries

You're to understand while reading this
  that is what this is
    I would write like this nights
I'm quieted, within tall borders
  I do not
    the beliefs of my hands
Fast-moving clouds shout-twist
  this isn't what my mind houses
    I may entertain the question

Sceen door then hollow wood door
  I confused geometry with geology
    you show me a world that is three-dimensional
You shouldn't consider what is written
Stop reading
  instead of accepting passing love by
    banished from the crowded exile

Lie cheat steal your heart
  on the tenth of December
    tonight the crickets push themselves
      to create a busy freeway late at night
Late night
  being sweat and being sweat
    my door opens to a concrete walkway
I write on a sheet of paper
  one of them is gallumphing on the roof
    I look up; wave my hand
Filing at my door's bottom edge
  tonight one of them sits in the East grass-weeds
I pick through heaps for clothes
I enjoy the delirium
I've just this week completed another 'novel'

Commas are a form of consciousness
  dashes are a form of linear relativity
    I'm in the darkened room of myself
Intuition: truth reasons contradiction
Right now the location of language
  I write about myself
Literature is colorless surfaces
  to find that voice interact with the future
    I ventured into unconsciousness

"Eloise!"
Orbs of words, murmering memory
  they called themselves 'human beings'
He leans. reaches, picks-up the pen
   he wears seventy-five years magnificently
     we sit in the parking lot at Hanalei
If you had all the money in the world
 for Valentines I gave my hear massage
   I spend nights sunken into myself

Yesterday I felt the world' s spinning
First, check to make sure
  sex is time travel
    if you do not laugh
Because what there is to feel is not enough
  a sharp thing in bed
    I can't say the moon anymore
First of all decide the game to play

It was Reno de Cordova or Elizabeth Cleaver
  little of what I do generates capital
    this is a black and white film
The sun merely sheds itself of light

I propose that we discharge the word 'being'
  as if the whiteness of a surrender
  a monument in the square
    mostly new materials
      take the latest drop possible

Three hundred and fifty thousand
  a song is sung sadly
    you there with your sadness of ape
      the process of sublimating logic

What doesn't stomach in me resistance
  glitter on sidewalks like stars
    stolen speech
Anger could be an illusion.


 

©2009 wfairbrother

VI