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Richard Foreman

/ubu editions2001

Slice

SliceBy Richard Foreman

Permission kindly granted by the Ontological Hysterical TheaterSpecial thanks to Charles Bernstein

Cover by Dom Sylvester Houédard, 1960s©2001 /ubu editions

/ubu editionswww.ubu.comcontact: [email protected]/ubu editions series editor: Brian Kim Stefans

1

Left over, the flutter of paperbleeds an expectation,new roses not yettimed.

Ingenious victimsspread thinon the cut of deep feeling.

Expected nightunflaredlike a weight.

Slice Richard Foreman

2

THE FLUTTER that might have beentouchedonly flowers,and the tight lidroaredinto the sweet night.

So many fast fireslinedlost trajectories.

All eyes rolledand the heademptiedcould vision behind the backblacked out.

And the roll-touchspreadinto a whole cityflashing like ink,word suckedinto a solid garden.


3

SUSTAINING grey lightkey stretchedunder the fog pawof dampidea- mixed trotup steps of streetspulling to be touched.

Not-enfolded but slidunder the wax-wet fingerof cold minutes,bone into lock-almondcreased into the headmap gougedin rock-space like a bell-nut.

Hour into the headcold coldkeeping the light shellbrief.

City-flashgrain of throat communion,the barkof idea on ideasteaming stained,glowed.


4

MANY, a whole stratainto the streetsthat multiply,drift as long memories shoot fastpinholesmarking the adventurous needle-brain.

Toast renovationfrom fingersgripping towards skull-skill.

Flow-up goalfeaturedfluttereda gap.


5

THIN

mouth-effectsspreadbrain scrubbedinto the total bowl.

Here-here on a flatboredom levellike a housenon-tiltablebecause full.


6

HEARTCARVED

he opened his palm.

A light spreadleft to right.

Insignia of flash,idea imprintover the vista-weightrapid into a clutchthat spasmeditself.

A mixtotal.


7

WHEN in whitenessa whole forehead appearswipedand the day rootsgrapplewith foam influxall hole in the mouthnon-wordpoured from a patient shoveldon’t see.

The vista foolseven the rigorous geometer.

Translator too kaput,except errorwhich burstsinto the non-locatable(glory) EAR.


8

THE VAST

open eyeself plungewith a word.

Un-twistinto the totalmixof language selves.

Singular melangere-found.


9

VANISHING

was a resourceemployed by crowds best able to utilize twilight hoursCirculation without revelation of deep thought,remarkable printed informationcaptured with speed.

Window washersswept by doubtplunged again into space,met deeper,those they heretofore dared not embrace.

A meal in a hundredstill in flightadded clean surfacesto banished imagination.

Somebody thinks— Oh, it’s raining,and a glass door veryde-manufactures the urban electricity.

Don’t shock too soon.Don’t retro-revolveyour very glass door of downpourof demonic driftof double correctvery real sweetness.

I said electricity and I meant electricity.I said rain, and I meant lift your eyesif you still have them.

That downpouris mine.


10

OVERTURNED CHAIRS

find their way into history books.

Massive discoveriesfill suitcases and coffee tables.

Cups stand drunk not.The residue of celebration seems uncommonly brilliant.

Why! Why! Cry creatures.

The streets are sometimes empty.Painted store fronts deepen their paint.

Colors, not more intense today Say maybe tomorrow.

Oranges on the standsRoll when jostled.

A horse appears.Spectators scatter and pretend to be speed shopping.

Perception comes to an end.The routes open fullyand a car heaven, heaves.


11

A ROUTE, re-twistunder the blanket lightnow-new haze foldedonto the memory screen re-peopled with each graspeddigit-item

Knives and forkswhere-marchedupright.

Idea-stalk between bitesinto my ownintimate buying.

Day knocked through the dreampre-sleep at the table heaving giftsunder the lamp’ssad rule of light.


12

ICE MUSIC cools nothingbut rare as musictemperate, non-believeable,this could be lostor not lost.

Major beliefthe key to allself-liftingcomes now with darknessinto the non-street speeding.

So it was.inside-out from a blind socket.The lightpoundîng through fingersagain and again.

The potato in the mouthslows the landscapered-purpleunder its liquid-visible glow.

No belief manifest,but small isolated occasionsrose to the old music,a tired fistonly.

The suburban driftre-heavy with deep flairwas a continuim reallyso nobody got wetand the deepest parameters spread like tactile butter.Oh? I head him repeat,“Tactile butter”?


13

A DEFINITIVE OUCH,he rose to no occasion,smiled behind various disguises,kissed an exploratory good by,lifted no hand in considerable intensity.Now you know him.

Without shadowshe spreadhis fingers to touch all shores of the personal.


14

A CERTAIN REPERTORY

of imaginary ‘left-outs’,that’s what the shelves in shadows made solid in a way that had no way out.Could I re-scan anything but a beginning?

I said notand was self-surprised.

All the hum-drummade such a loud noise I had no ears.

I betook other events in place of coming to terms with what wasdear,sweet,and too much touched to be really kissable.

First time was last time.I gobbledswallowednot scared, not freenot particularly me.

That’s how I got where I am nownot particularly.


15

I COME hurtling towards youin my language.Feet, headarms and lungs all exchange superiour position in rapid succession.And thatwe call hurtling.

Does it hurt?Of course it doesin a way.In what way?Listen,while I pound upon you with the top of my head.

Can you feel that pounding?It’s the top of my head!

I’ll make you bleedlike I bleedfrom the very top of my head.

(Repeat after me:From the very top of my head!)


16

BRIEF BUTTER

circulatedat the enterence,hobbeledby the sweet tasteof the mouth king,re-enteringall doorsvast and ajar.

Schemes, schemesthat dropinto the dry brain,the watchfulmix.Was it domesthat passed here?

Butter shinemade thickleaf magicrites of smearsmoothedon the foreheadof hairlesscamels.

I toohave traveledby sliding.

Up and down was my wontacquiring agile tastein the gold desert.

Sweet


with the old blanknessof stuffedthought-flesh.

Zap: into the turning.


17

TRIAD:the many fingerpound-clusters,fours, fives,all magnet-bledin suspended blast,notthe verge-holdsplay returninevitably brain fedcompoundagain.


18

WHEN A WHOLE

turnedvehicle slidlateralto its shadow,an image rockin the brain of the Who-Who.

It diddie-not.

Colorout of colorshone-again.


19

THE DARKNESS FALLS.Radio pulsations extend their reach.

Interference increases, which multiplies the possibilities wherein noisemay accidentally suggest eternal realities.

Eyes search the shadows, inventive and turn inward.

Certain genuses create from the blackness artificial day.As a result, real day begins evoking an imitation and so imitates itself.

Airplanes flying over the citybut no one looks.Their routs solidify into noise umbrellas.

A vast space is pierced.Symbolism becomes light to see by.

Animals relate to networks of human interactionby imagining how to back up.Man, being an animalDoes it his way, by self consciousness.

Winds rustle venetian blinds.Streets empty themselves beyond likelyhood.

Ladies alone under the covers resolve to maketension radient.Ask how and no answer is forthcomingwhich in the silence,deepens resolve.

Old men are covered.Hands clutch at protuberances in the shadowsthat tune bio-active faculties.


Organs turnInto self.

The possibilities of future actioncount with birds not on branches.

An electric glow is seen behind deep water falling from half closed open faccutsin a variety of rooms trying to consolidate.

Women beneath ceilings that echo wallpaper,the head spinning.Haircuts lowering impenetrable invitation.The cat multiplied as ikonfinds no competition.

Shadows fry.Organizations meet.

Vast important resources tap carpets, deep red.Window washers lower their eyes to see space.

Already eaten meals spread consciousness toward new dimentions, butrecognized by memory,menues float.

Rejuvonated carpetsloan things

Eyelids converge on bridged discrepences of sightseeing.The bus loses axel power.


Greese treads new routes and the sore foot triumphs over elusive pain.

Sitting becomes a method of transcendence.


20

MUSIC not music but wind that stopped.

Tree houses loose all mystery.Birds rise, their mechanism understood.

Empty streets— look again, no less full than normal.Shopping sprees seem slow, which is normal.

The woman with fur quivers but it passes.Clocks all notate, which is not normal.

The unusual falls into place like clockwork.Dogs make imagination the next plateau.

Energy waves latch onto heat, and lose entry.The locked gates hint at everything else.


21

CRASHES self-muffleand railroad bridges decide late bets come from the heart.

A workman allows pride to greese the wheels of going in circlesand steel rims the horizon.

Whatever rises says ‘Steam, you are part of that giant blackness, now.’

(Musical mole-businessof course,musical mole business.)

Men light their own eyes using automobile tricks to stack people up at bridge supportable trait-trading posts.

Rivers cross under, turning into non-rivers.A red Cadillac finds ways to color itself that remain public.Still time for lunch?

The star toast sparkles until it travels to the stomachwhere it sings“Swim, swim!Here’s lunch, but it hurts.Swim, swim,Here’s lunch for free, but don’t touch.Here’s lunch but I vanish in order to be eaten.”


22

I AM HELD

by the music that rises.Engines of sound.Waves, slow slices of the would-be ear,hands into the teeth absencepalatable now.

(What makes the body dance?And dance it does.)

A program for a lifeluredwith the intensity of singing,dancing, sleep even,of which no intensity is the memory even.

Such a soft expansionthat the very untouchable is the very intense.

A program for lifede-learnable.A trueprogram for lifedisolved in its ownliveliness.


23

AIR MASQUERADE

drenched in sun.

Shop windowschorus-able.

A gaze of bounceeyed into the longwhite boulevardwith a yowlof heaven-butter.

Such was that placid tickunder the eyebrowwhen great beautyhit.


24

AFTERNOON crackof convergent metal.

I bet I heard that mysterious soundbecause I was here for a whole afternoon.Why?Because a whole afternoon is nothing to me.

In poetry city,I bet I stay a real long time in factbecause more poetry means more fun.

What was that noise,that metalic crack, in fact?Something in my heart?Not at all.A vehicle explodedor rather began to and stoppedbecause nothing in Poetry City fulfils itselfwhich is why it’s poetry city,get it?

I bet you didn’t.But it happened like thatand whatever it is that happensgets into you, somehowin Poetry City.

(I’ve had fine, fine meals here.—I bet you have.Oh indeed, I bet you have.)

The philosopher turned over his platein poetry city.


in the resturant called ‘JOY’he finished his lunch from a series of uncomfortable positions.

JOY, JOY, the passerby was correctedas he almost thought of askingold-timersfor the most dependable resturant in Poetry City.

The gray clouds hung over somethingbeyond streetcorners that evokedwhat should have been docks,but no river flowed or evencut wetbetween the semi-tall buildings.

What’s the best way in and outof Poetry City?

Not by water of course,there is none.And the philosopher dried his throat.Not by airwhich compacts over the city wholelike a blanket of foam,and the philosopher swallowed hard.

Not by rail,for oncewhere streetcars cut electric slap pathsinto the interiour—now rest assured with lying wherever you find yourself.

And the philosopher turned to dessertwhich had been served first anywayand made a smile out of his mental muscles.


You look happy,claimed his companion and vanished.Which one of them?An answer wasshhh, forever.


25

THIN LANGUAGE

bark climb to the leafleaping serious.

World covera glow window-notinto the heart.

Sit comfortablytil the roomtilts, back crackof cerimonial verbde-used for filler.

Til a stuffed headagainlifts suppprtedinto super-chair.


26

POETRY MELTS language doesn’t it?The whipapplied on myself by myself.Debatable pleasure maybebut as I divide myselfhacked off partsofferedin the hand.

OnceI made language remarkably agile.Now the alphabetic display turned on itselfits ikon soup, estranged voicelike a die-cutsemi-perfect apple of speech.So I self tumble.

Lost restrain of word packall trim at lasta languagepee’d out.

So many old fruitsnon-tasted.Piles and piles of ghost cardspounded, re-made readable.

The older wordordered into a vastdrum thumplike good tongue oderwind flapped.

Idea but thickenedwith hurtturned again, word againthrough iron-braced mind.


27

THE DEED of clout, pure and missed through potency.

Alas,a full space organ.


28

THE DARKNESS,crystalized into faint noisetravels the streets,hussels turtle-likeunder the electric spark of a deliberate musicheard or pressed gently into the eye.Temples of such delicacy.Forehead relics.

Streetcars return from dead years.

Leaves fall but then choose not to dancebut do dancebecause wind is always presentand the dark balconiesconspireremembering light from which they separateabsorbing all.

A moon hesitatessomewhere that falls not into expectatant diner platesor into walkable shoe-shinesclean on dessert-pavement that moves.

But a bed-time circle is not yet tunedand a night wavecrests without noisepulling shadows into its specific glue.

Pigeons arrange into grids of non-windand the invulnurable directionrests under an odorstopped and imortalized.


29

HEART SWITCHED

but no storm comesunblessed.

Wound to truth.

Fluid in uncover-myththe eye mountsinto bite-longtrot.

Blood deliveredholdflower pauseof breath-seed.


30

A STEAM HEART skids through streets,a locomotive of wind-flapped silk,despondency non-possibile now.

Newspaper devotees duck a collective headinto the door that shuts by opening.

A mix of words and windaffords travel hallucinationthe better to unfold,but what’s to be seenexcept from second floor balconies that tilttoward nirvana corner I pass,meaning I have no claim to the specific facadeI can’t seebecause I’m it.

The shadow is my arena.

The windparticle sliced into my eyemakes the entire street reflexiveso I get depositedlike gravey on pavement.

I toorustle my engineslike a tin duck.


31

A MAN, tilt hat,let’s bookstore windows slideinto veritable side-of-the-mouthsweet-stuckno-where but hair.Vaseline prone book frontageReady to dine on top.

Pompador soup-flatinto non-readable slimecleans the market of literature.

What’s left shinesre-eatable after all.


32

HIS RIPT

fanciful dimensionover-ripeenough for pleasure trades equal in departure of zonk.

Zip, the all time-tuneof antsrips intojacket law.

Encasementflows and gallons ofwoosh-directivesa whole boy nowrise, glowof the semisolved.


33

WHAT WAS DEEP

circles itselfso tightit slips up on everything else.

Goodnessis what shadows exclaim.Everything filled, everything abandoned.

Free movement triumphs surprising but softand windows light again turn within a signal.

Animals of non-lightfeeling friendly hurry home.

Perfumed recollectionsdeposit a dim glowas curtains drift,lace still holding the promise of penetrationnever acted upon.

Sweetness fills even outsidersall insidethe total imagining.


34

VAST, underhandedthe loopdedicated to outside talk.

But the butter tongueleadsleashesand walls-wordsuncoveredto lastin dirt.

Free burried speechso the one faceshines.

Language-wipe.


35

CATHEDRAL

depth charge.Brain crackers.

(Cathedral, that’s the term.)

A zone of practice.The word opens, as a vast wholerings. Like a bell.


36

A TAXI spinsonce too oftengreasing the wallpaper.

Rose bloomand humid supperrink my travel.

Here I am.I sleep.

The boulevard gets spider armsso rotatedall activitymuffin-baked by speedpours fastinto sky channelssharp grovingthe black light.


37

STREETS ACCOUNT

and the bomb of reasontreadswhere the soft lightspits and spinsmandolins and grace.

Thought forms under wrapstil the carpet pianothuds also into idea.Flesh filled duetfrom the emptydouble music.


38

I’D like to give myselfa new languagewhich would provideinstant happiness.

Speaking the words,the sequences made availableby an unimaginable syntax,I’d be happy just mouthingthe promise at leastof happiness.

The promiseso deliberate and exact,as good as fulfilment,but not fulfilment and yetI like it.


39

TWIST shineable.

Out of wacktrance-treatment.

Pranceinto the language that optsbeleagured, loadable,flat, duck-of-itsimilarto itself.

Marked totalsmartness.

Riftable.(Do vent).


40

ANOTHER TIME

I might tell you about diamonds that fell out of the numbered dial of mywrist watch

Another timeI might circle how much to get ‘please’ out of a man who wants truth just to pour out of me.

O.K.In the movie titled “Filled Pockets”a man reaches a door but hesitates a long time before turning the knob.Someone shouts ‘thief’—but never again is reference made to that moment.The man hesitates at the door.Orange light streams over his face.Blotch. And the projector breaks.You stand, and just at that moment a light comes on.You are attacked by many.A spider covers your face but nothing drains the intensity of light.You fall, emptied into the present.Don’t ask for your money back.The audience has fled and you are bleeding alone in the theatersearching for change.


41

A MELON rolls forward on glass feet.

Somebody’s idea of a paradepours from the fulfilled resturant.

Heroes pounce,forks for strolls.

The musicSpeaker-wisetears up a group of blackened faces clutching the bandstand simulacre.

Why me? cry usas empathy itselfswoops forragingin the dirty shirt.


42

HE APPROACHED

waffleunder the iron tonguesizzle-talk, under the word.

A boomfull or upnot orientation-faultbut a goldveinblood tabled,dinner suckedde-languagedby rotewith the teeth whirlingemphasis-slicedas it-all.

Is somebody really asleep?Already my eyes are heavy.

Requirements un-liftable,he seems ready to wake up.

Boats able to reversebring dark packages from infant mouths.A knee kissed and exposedproves volume expendableyet thirstpacesand the window lamp makes veiled correspondence.

Flowersglow under the knife.


43

MUTANT,liable to disagreeable flightsoft-up.

But the quip-solidwith it’s axis-mentality drifts stillby a skew thatface-makesof its direction only.

Skid-skew.The ‘otherwords’ that creases the brain foldof the whirlall-done.


44

SO-ROADS

where lunch comes bright.

Double w-wood facadehauled byslant light.

Slats munch lostinto deeper autumn.

Napkin pattern appetitein wind.

Spoken dartusing the same mouthspoon spread.

Vocabulary twists from underwhere tastereins the eye.


45

Bowedcrest in me.Violin mudmuch play twisted.Muscle awakebut vastwhen the armuncoversnew in revolvethe selfish skin adventfolded, re-foldedgroanable flight-path.

Flatviolin pancakesspunfrom the bent armbubblingcollision into the fat facelaunchedby a tonguenon-singable.


46

Cold, he twisteda thought ikon-itselfdown to the very grainnow grafted. Drifteach blossemthat fell deepinto the furnace.Slice fusedblast flowerto a hurled outzero degreeof accidentall midget nightowned and ownerof itself.


47

UTTERLY flat, a plateau of sightevolves the coagulatefresh-stiff,rends forthcomingsall hot-heightin the arrowed seam of the eye.

Light gurgles in the low throatpurple, finger-bigpressing on vision.

The table flattenedby scan-weight,seated night groapinginto all-whitegelatin vision.


48

A GALLOP

sliced til hovescataloging the rain streetporcelain lacedsmallness its graceframed notby the green vine that only flickers,not itselfin yellow filliment.

Tottering amp-snapknockstil teethseparate and spreadrump furrowall pasteon stone glassy.


49

CITY under airplanesno plain truth on wide wallsentering through accident only.

And the city ambulencewhite-maneuverslike hurt strawinto the shape that suits it best.

Heart shapedpump of unreasonthat spews back into the street systema pool of nourishment.untouched.

Real foodunfathomable as always.


50

KNIVES CUT

when the air is clearand lemons roll from platesinto the tunneled streets.

The sinking trolly vanishespastor round a corneror into dustas the “Oh yesI’ve been here”pulls shades,tremblingover the unfinished meal.

Run into the street.Roll with the roundyellow fruitpouring from the brainthat slicesthrough neighborhoodsheat fixedto the skullthat falls.

A plate receives messagesa window re-transmitsand my eyesolidbuilds me.


51

ROSE DOUBLE,authentic layered selfsweat-heaved in orbit.

Sintilating heat no-heat:sweet joined past multiple hurtles.

Rose whine curledinto gold heat-space.

Whif-drone,non-adhesive glue flowertrembler.


52

I CAN IMAGINE

the committment to langauge.Somethingnot expressedbut thunderousas the world, with holes widening as fastas the world widens.

Did he take me to where I wasgrey and softlike an instinct inside matter?

The double revolve of two mental wheels did echo the spread of that activity.So urban we weredoffed hats into the whirl of winds—but I sankinto a direction that spoke.


53

HIS OWN HONOR

not an neglected aspect of himselfbut a bucklethat shone.

A flydecorating his own maneuvers through spaceuntil the fly king said“Enough I have seen with my seventeen eyesand I sink into that very delight sufficient”.

His own trustnot a forgotten part of the repetoirebut somehowwhat the overkill of the emotionemptied.A suitcase in a city hard to fathom.

His own fathomlessnessnot a look in the wrong directionbut mirror-likea part of the eaten cake of responsibility that goes down sweetin endless stomach upheavalsspreading whole pavements of catagorymasquarading as like and like-notwhirling reallyin all directions at once.


54

SADLY he spokefire-basedwith feetasphalt caressed.

Breaking tendernessrolled sweetunder particles ofday to daychewed to grasslike spun language hair.

Oh, he was a sweet oneand a disappointed oneand a lost, totally lost.

Look at the hand-tongue shakingin the long tunnel


55

REMARKABLE or not,hewed to no formbut formhe did vast-reachacross the inchof the finger.

The tiniest jointbalancedlike sea-bluein the pin-eye foamof his whirling.

On the fifty-two year pivotdrown-fear floatsunder the more noticable musclesunavailableby twist rather than fact.

A factfloatsremarkablytwist-high.


56

THE GEERS do meshbut a sleepundone by itselfdreamed into distance-lakeby which fish eye-traumacaught one-eyed only.

Pack reflectivelike a beam thinnerto make me-me-mearise like a twist.

The languageundone by it’s stitch-selfcutsinto double-jointwhat eye-gluespansintoraw I was.


57

THE GREEN

tried apple bitesinto all-over but a branchlifts, bitesinto the outside star-selfwheregrass onlyI count fingers in flight.

Skies, branches, spark gapsof the non-applerefracted itselffallen from no branchtil a bitespeeds forththe seed of happensnot-yet.


58

I KNOW thingsand in the very centera holebrown-burrowstil the edgeunkept like lightspeaks of its owndiscovered driftand that plateedgesinto completehurrah whole again like a typeunbent.


59

EACH SPLIT separatedinto a non-spaceall frontal demand.Skull in essence de-brewedto drink unthoughtthe return fluid of a slowtriumph look-alikepanic sparkingthe untroubled hurt-notof hurt kernal.


60

WONDERFUL

rage-freedomand the dawn dropspartialagainst itself.

The flick oftremendous round, calmalready tumblinginto past icegathering up cold destinies.

Wit, but a word moreand the revolved crackspread like fire trumpetsmusic of solid footpounding a dust-effectual remarkmaking its own iced reflex.

Blanket enough to do to daylightwhatever ousts the maintained tremor of spleen-beam us.


61

PSYCHE OUT the shape of all events expanding because of the overlap on a point added one by one.

Drift to the rightso if one counteracts the drifttime stops.And the circle is penetrableand the eye is the centerorigin pointsees or is seen.

Nothing is there.The eye self-enclosednon-radiatingexcept circular,on and throught itself.

Tight weavewhere tight means nothing.The self-selfedemptya point nowall because one movedagainst movement.


62

PEOPLE are in the streets.Empty houses re-fill at no particular speed.A lost love re-surfaces and is hewn from different oakbut born againand all think of themselves as bodyworn once but now indelibly fixed in small private possession.

Street lights brighten before the storm’s occasional arrival.Umbrellas lift into heretofore empty spaceand the sawed branch evoked, breaks notexcept —yesinto a hundred small arms and legs that whirlhaving been sawedinto no possible otherwisecoming home.

Just likeIn the beginning.In the beginninga deep sleepdreamless.No sleeperonly the sleepfold into itselffrom which a man of a certain agerolled forwardinto no time at all.

Rolled, rolled, rolledand rolled, rolledrolledrolledrolledrolledrolled.


63

COULD IT BE that I rose into different light?

Could it be that I lost interest in the total revolve of the semi that calleditself circle?

Could it be that I toasted the second rate, under the impression thatcompassionate meant “hero”?

“Don’t doubt anything except the stratagically isolated,”cried my guardian angel.and I was awake to thatjust a little too soon.Confusion was not MY recipebut the angel of that persuasion capped a lifetime of energywith a slow lift-offinto name that tune-lessthey all sangso singable.

“How be friends” said the smileand I covered, of course, my own mouth first.“Can’t you shine tooth lightinto a grimace that hurts no one?”(It gains access through the dreaming of more thanof occasional factors.)

Funny—it was factories that aimed at the mamoth corrective operation.None of it worked out but it sure made musicand that best noise was the worst of all possible words.

A worst rehabilitation machine—that’s why I’m MAD ABOUT MUSICchimed in a hell-of-a-lotta young thingswho took things off into nose country.


I too, sloapedI mean, sloppedinto the desert of lifewhich fools youmebut not everybody who of course you recognized as one of my more SUCCESSFUL disguises.

So when you hear on the grape-vine—“Big guy, your prize just got delivered!”don’t even look.I’m a crook, about my own handywork. So. fingers? Ouch! Risk it, of course.It’s terrible, but not really music.


64

YES, to the vibrating fingerclose to what’s close.Demonically eat of gentledirection and allowall.

Notice how the voicevowels the experience.Thick falsity in fact.

Your focal finger points to itselfonly by the non-pointof tremor.


65

After many experiences one came to an end.It wasn’t thinking that came forward.It bouncedagainst itself. It continued.It called itselfmultiple bounce. A whole world.

That’s all it took to make a wholeworld of treesworld of ideasworld of tablesworld of ratsworld of skiesworld of thinking itself

world of riversworld of housesworld of laws

bounceworld of ideasworld of tracksworld of farmsworld of value systems

bounceworld of musicworld of piesworld of eye glasses

bounceworld of warsworld of bedsworld of systemsworld of bloodworld of wind


world of everything elsebounce.

A certain fearhad not much to do with realityuntil it got tasted.It realized fear.It could do no wrong.It dressed in jewelsthat blinded even itselffrom lights elsewhere.

It preferedblindnessand other affectations of self dazzlement.Through multiplicationit came upon twice full of admirationsaying to itself,“If this is fearit isn’t bad.”

But who spokewhen that beingflew into the heights of the room umbrellaso the raincould not water real flowers?

It wanted to make explosionslike the realbeautiful thing it was (not).

The philosopher’s tableupside downas always.


66

It didn’t rain.That was my ownwrist falling through spaceto slap againstthe tree that talked.Look. Many of those treeslining the road to the parkwhere burials alreadymade opera out ofprevious agression.

I did seizing the hand to my right.Tell more time, more timeand the fullness made of itselfarrangementsso that an ordered world said“Hey, I’m just a piece of the WORD.”

With that for a footstart and circulatealmost reaching the starting point.But alas—the door shut.


67

Nothing. A twistof the kernal of spaceseeded me.Nothing.A non-aberant descent.

Twistinto the harmony of incompatable sourcesall miles from my telephone and brain.

Look, again I lost contact.Giddy againI dialed,zero seedinto a vibrating flowerthat said“Pass not”which was the code.


68

Soon, soon,did he throw a hat in the air.Soon, did a flutterturn automatic.Soon, soon,when a bar of chocolateand a bar of soapwere inter-changablewhat got a bubble burst?AndSoon, soon,the place it fell to was uncomfortable delight.So roll, twist,the mind behind the mindso the grain irritant oystergoes snapat the brain spark that lights upMY whole world at least.

Roll, roll.I got no oceanin my ocean.Space outphases.

Phase, phase.don’t get losteating you basis.It goes out in a big circle,loops back and says “the tripple dipdips me, you and everybody in good stuff.”When I stuff,


I say stuff,more stuff.Phase it, phase it.

Veronica came into my lifelike a cyclone of plastic.Who got off first?Hard to say, but when Istepped down from the talk alot bus,boy, was I hot.Phase it, phase it.That means cool out the whole planet.

Air- dale and moremy holes to ventblocked up by the information—that wasn’t Veronica’s trip.So my return ticketstuck uptickled meand I couldn’tphase it, phase it.

So instead Iphase it, phase it,phase it all the time.Phase it.


69

No pearl circle the tall treebut hesitate.Drink. Hesitate.And the electricity of the pausevanishesinside it’s own pause of thirst.

Thena look which spreads wide the white of the skyenters so many heads from the part directly over the brainthat the words of exaultationglistenon all thingsrising.Counter-moveto the slow driftof woodentwilight.

Look, look toward the shadow.It’s no shadow.It’s the inside of lightalready sleeping.

And the treesmanufacture all purpose solutionsand me,flying self poisedin the direction already givenby non-saying.


70

Under waterrisen again.I float notbut obey.So what sailsfrom meisutter wind.

That reach interiourthat through itselfonlycourses in gold.


71

Misguided, a tribulationall-offered.A roaster for ridesde-marked to re-injectstart of population adventuresthat made wheelswhere a crowd diedunder its individual plaint.

Soft into the self-selvesthat swerved-likeonly to the flick of moment consciousnessin-eyed all.


72

His grey featuresas a rolled-through city.

His dappled attentionprovokes the lattaceof glimpsed vista-cuts—so into each bar-resturnant-cafethe nostril like vortexinto which goesthe exploratorywipe-out of swirledbody as stretched sleep.

I saw nothingtil now.It’s then.


73

The experiencerolled up(it had time) (always time)sweetensinto the unrecognizablehoneythat is always honey.

Um- strokes,of the beaten wingflying home.


74

Hopefulhe giant entered.He gave wayto that mist that covered the city which was no city but a collection of not-recollected devices long endured.

Hopefulhe no longer collected what hopefullness revealedunder the hour glass of so many missed brown and gold hours of despondency and effort

Hopefulhe flew.But the mist through which he circulated did not cry “City, I know your corners your brilliant avenuesbut I flap in your own busy wind, stride like the idea of jeweled accomplishment.”Look how the joint of arm and leg flash in the extention of multiple idea made concrete from the accomplishment that rendersthe solid fact of each particular dream.

Hopefulhe lifts,and cities choir into themselves.Hopefulhe rides to his own end of the line and half sleepis enough for totalsleepwhich followsin the mist.


75

Gratitude slips through the net.Pile driver inertia blooms.

A certain registerun-pre thoughtbut purchasedwitnessedslow disappearance.

In a cityno one speaks.Search for the hotel.


76

Now let me pick up a hammer.

Now let me lift a sharp instrument which is really to be used on the toothexcept I’ll use it on my own gold eye.What? God’s eye?

The one that sees through darkness because that’s just imaginary adven-tures. The moment I turn the light on everything goes black.

I should have brought a tooth pick.No, an ice pick.

It grow out of my head like a stalk of reality.Look into that hole and you think you see yourself but look twice—it’s me.


77

They wanted me to buildbut I refused.

They gave me a collection of motifs and said build yourself a world— was it a world? I don’t think so. A city maybe or a single houseor not a house even but since a real storm is coming a kind of minimal shelter only.I refused.

I refused on principal.

(Outside the real placehis longed for paradise did comesooner than expectation.A rare dimention dreaming the leaf itselfeaten, tiredand the sky that roseplate like,uncooled by the other dimentionshe choose not.But the notone hundred times in it’s fast oscilationmade each wall necessary againtil decoration floweredand the main hallucinating truthrepeatedinto the real.)

Should I allow the real.Should I accomplish myselfor vanish into the agreed on happiness.


Should I duck for joywhen the horizontal elevator displacesnot smiles, but the long light of an afternoon wasted in discarded pleasure that plays back all golden memoriesbecause the achieved bride of selfdoes the circular dancethat only real troupers know as the harvest of what camebefore anyone invented applauseto ruined that once and spontanious nothing at allhappy.

Should I track.Should I encore.Should I toss off nothing.Should I count more than the accident “It happened”.

But it did.Self-counted.


78

When the wall of timeis flatdirections are still possible into the uni-direction spread though the capable hand that mocks notits own elevated receptor.

It does dive into the space of radical drift.

So time which is a tint only(residue of the real swoop-color)fades again into its ownpass-self.

And the handsstretch to no heldbeat.


79

No a-oarrowed upbut the lengthendrift.

And all collectionsde-formedbecause it was inherent.

That was the formknown to itselffrom the great travelled distance.

Small unimagined drift.Don’t think.Here it is in the eye.but don’t notice.

Alonecircles it.


80

Is this languagespoke flying?

It doesfly.

My face wipeditselfwith language.

Roundlike a moving rock.


81

The truthbends into existence.

That’s all right.

People toppleanyway.


82

There is no public life.Ripped from the walls are violinsPlayed but once.And the wallpaper reforms under the gaze of the exhausted music lover.

Crossroads decide to sleepand a violence unimaginabletakes flight under the eye of eyesrooted in the brightreflexive glow all drift.Good for now.Good for tomorrow.

A smile offeredslightly more than remarkable.

Outsiders howl.Insiders lift their skirts.

Don’t doubteverything is on the opposite side of expectationand plunges so quickinto the invisible quicksand of—Oh, this remark, that remark.

There. What I said was etchedin some kind of non-refundable gold.


83

Self-calmin the afternoonhis flar for excitement was objectified..

Sandwiches un-ateand the began re-wound made him think himself wholelike non-clock timethe bodyshirks.


84

Bundles of being.He was that kind of hero.

A new plan for lifeThe refusal to make connections.What kind of explosion is the result?My own self generatinggently.And his hand flew multi-directional from the wrist.

Brainspotatosaurasspongesplanets.

Out of memoryhe drew bucketfulls of alphabet notes.A different letter of the alphabetat the top of each note.Many ways to arrange those notesalphabetrical form producing one arrangement.

Words could be spelled using those letters at the top of each pagearranging the sequence of notesspecific ways.

So as you seeI shall be vigorousbut lost.

A potato is in the mouth.Feet bring one to the edge.Upside down is a dilemma non-contradictoryso we lose our way and benifit.

All manifestation takes a powder.


“Look” cry lost children no longer lost “We got lost”.Such celebration.So many potatos.Such reunions and feastingsAll of course under totally false premises.

Rapidly the abandoned fieldslose cloud-cover.Whatever floral displays were considereddriftinto a dust that came from those skiesslowlylike rainthough the speed was differentand no one considered it like speed.

Charted as it was against a vertical direction that had no oppositethe word driftwas manifestingunder everybody’s consciousness.

Blestlostemptyand radient about the very whole thingforever and foreverinto the dark pit.

Holes in the airventelatednot the uncomfortable thingsbut the untouchable because alwayspre-mature.Always.


85

No belief was manifestin a major waybut small isolated occasionsrose to the old musica tired fist only.

The suburban driftre-heavy with deep flairbut it was a continuim reallyand sonobody got really wetand the deepest parameters were spread like tactile butter,Oh? I head him repeat—Tactile butter?(A definitive, ouch.)

That suburban driftwasn’t my real homecoming.I dash itso that in the beyound I can accomodate my real self.

Then, doning the uniform complete—here I am.An I-star.


86

Caught, the ironwas re-heated.

Index-term,the formal agile propertyof nomad p-p-puffsfrom which non-spewor nota vapor feast.

Loud claxon fruitproof to its orbitown-chewablefever droppedinto the word-worldof this.


87

Twisted into comprehensibilityhe rose

to no occasion.

He smiled behind his various disguiseshe kissed, an exploratory good byhe lifted no hand in considerable intensity.

Now you know him. He spread his fingers to touch all shores of the personal.


88

Oh white raider.Oh ash phonetics.Speaker of heart scooped out.Oh tall time master of the wrist,spinner of height and depththose two-twin acts of a desperation not even conversent with fluid dwellings of the sentimental lynch-pin.I throw now the key into the deeper pit.I spring no-locks that braid in the head’s hair like fireflies at noonsleeping so it appears elsewhere.But in facticed onto a larger dream,vision and tooth removed.

The gap, the fructifier!(Repeat after me.)


89

Capable, as always.Risen— that means out of controlinto masterful drift. Alwaysbut

when an a- eyeblinks enough to allow-in-allshould I be open to you too?You also?

You bend in yourselflike a real tossed elementof total agitation.

It’s my desire.

It’s my dream also.

Kill it I did trybut being OUT of myself wasrotten to the core.Here I am again.


90

I can’t complain when I was already wetbefore the downpour.

It took the STINGout of things.How silly they did seemwith no more sting.

Stroll alongadmiring the flowersand faint nottil the next squall you didn’t name.

But you licked it goodfor it’s elusive sweetness


91

Everything continues as plannedthen it doesn’t.So I just sawvision.

Another field of occurencewhich lept at menot suddennot forcefullynot invisiblylike a significantand drift like it did drift.


92

No reasons, he says,and the delight was big.

A terrible winddidn’t collect much.Memorabilia that didn’t count.

Only high grade ore,deliberate and positiveis something to fill your head.

But talking about hats—internals hats show offthe color of these latent ideas.

Then, searching every mirror in townyou can be sure of winningthe last raceraced.

It superceeds all othersin slownessso it’s wonlike the colorful repetitionof everythingyou forgot to think.


93

His own feet—I’m talking about myself of course—dance.

But I don’t dance.

Then how come I thought of my feetblindly.Did I really blind myself with my feet?A reallymeans “Yes”.

That’s the thing about feet.Look as I up them.


94

Speeding through all necessary brancheswhat’s gathered.

Fruits?Oh no, kisses. Self to self.

The tongue that vibrates in the realhole of the selflike a mad bee


95

It happened oncein the distant streetconvoluted hereby elevated railroads that passed deep through on stump legs.

Now when that memory is shaky light cracks like a pro-fund-ory.

I pass my spelling onto those who handle it better.I just sitstump stillon my futureinto whichmy sleepis my disappearance.


96

Did a light strike?Wear it into a better resume.

They come upon me.Nothing but sentences redeem me.

Such happiness.Such tea.Was it a clock that strucklight in the inner eye?

Better to make do with what comes to hand than something with holes in it. I am solid. I have a finger in my own oriface of choice.I see nothing.Yes to the eye.

Wait for the rainbut it didn’t .It was cold someplace elseand hereI sat.What fell on my head was wetonly in anticipation.

But anticipation is daughter to inventionary thought.It’s here and when I say it’s here—it goes.

Helloam I here? Of course


97

A remark— spedmade itbed un-flat.

But the bend skyward speechripe foam noise liftof the squashed flesh?

De-dancepatterned flameouts.


98

Nightime. Did youhave something to sayto me?

A dish.China leaves.Cooltobacco left-overlamps on end.Depth crackers.

To eat no-flakesthat’s to diecast in an iron lifeporous enough.Fragments, disguises,one tabletfor one eyesee-thruholds.

Sleep into idea.Wake into meaning-notbut holes.

Radient, alonenetwork acidthe calmdanceall done.


99

His own fistlamented as it turnedfrom the bodyinto a punchless space.

Kissedwinded (lost in fistify)a hundred kissesbawled at me.

He didn’t expect “I” to roll again into itself.That agrandized hollowof a non-spokencould elbow-turnedinto the same-selfdouble.

Self and selfpunch mowedinto de-effect(all stress.)


100

Controlled by iron milk.Steam dug. Heart-not.Milk-word tumblingtongue in tongueX’d by the subtle Xno-tunnelbut all-placeprickedthrough the speaking nostril.

Bloodwhite in shocknowstretchedrabid, rapidthrough a toothtimed into the bitegaped by the siezed goldquote of time.

Stress-acheunder the iron causethat calmsnerve datavast enoughto surface.

Dead eateninto the system vector.

Usurped gulp.Glare-pancake itselfsleep-trundledhoisted un-thereto-join.


101

The break.The watered plantfull swollenbut trapped.

Tapped by thunder-inert.Cared forhand meltedunder the gazepopping out again.

Not doubtbut a now double leafextended into a so-glareit-be.


102

We were all rigor.We were all aloneand the shinehalf erasedthereby seized ustil a cartrumbling in the dustself engineeredre-woundinto the giant spacewhere all small occurancesre-coupled.

So much vast drift of the multi-mind.Look!I’m already into my coat!Never out the door eventhe windtoo much.The little distractionsall the better unnoticedyou see.


103

The limited resource.The panel in the center of the panel.Closed noiseand all these circlesmine from an intense fistthat de-migratedthe sense of self.

So blown,a countryside non-sleptunder the blanketamazement in the head.

What birdflown gyro of please cold crackingin the upper storiesof remarkableglobe-nosesmelling old stories onlyfrom collapseshines but goes.


104

X-notstitched increaseplumbed bang— life turned magnet.

Inch-in-hand.mouth dropped.

Brain pronglong fueled stretchthrough a demandof-not seethe wide shelfof souveniers.

Name glue sweet saying-stiched.


105

At dawna street catapultthrough the knife that misses:cuts of rattlelayer on layericemilked from the rip-offdaylight like.

Whose eyes are those?Whirled habituesstreamlinethe seen-not,bled-livedand a cornerrounds itselfto fold-up brightnessand crispededgereads like a drift-sackI cozy to.


106

Clocks singin the brief streetwith its twistfrom light intodeep shadow.

Dust flecked fingersflickers a walkinside out toward the faceof the transformed door.

Hole into wider hole.Mouth of selfnot yet endured.


107

Misguided, a tribulationall-offered.

A roaster for ridesde-markedto re-injectfrom the start of populations adventuresthat made wheelswhere a crowd diedunder each individual plaint.

Soft into the self-selvesthat swervedonly to flicker,in-eyed all.


108

The milimeter of so-soall influx floatedmends me all.

And a roundarbitraryno-end-in-sightstretches blanks.

A thumb in the nosepunching for lifeinto the flat brickI-building.House of holes.


109

The stone walkssteps uptilthe nerve-icesucks on itself.

Pig-like in ironcoiledtight as un-openable poisonlater to destroyby birththe flunghung into whose skylight of stonelight of ironlight of brightestwind ideagushed.

Heavy weight into noise.


110

Uncovered city three times.Rebirth of strawbrain straw.And the iron thumplightened by driftwhole measured under thelaugh resistancedrugged into it’s memory mouth.

The speaksalone.

Wind-words of the peace tunnelthat goes, tread sadunder the lamp outside the fistclasped in punch.

Each mindwhirled into another.city.

Heaven selftowards bright stutter.all wobbledby the taut telling of itself donein the slice of a streetthat liftsinto the roll of roofs, walls, three-part doors that sink where the mind smacks down the flatbed-trustof a sleep.


111

Oh wild manyoua light I burn by.

Extinguishable future barren field of pre-non housing in which I cleanse myself.

Shall I vanish?I shall. That as myescape. That vanishing intowhich only I believe.


112

(Eros 1):Sometimes his ownadmiration baskeduncollaredin pure aether.

Colorless.The fluid geometry twixtrushed broth-modulesof welladministeredthumpings.


113

(Eros 2)The questionable ladyde-relic-ablesmitten could all coldfactor-hidethe manip-u-lateof a randomrackum.So Itress-madeviolence under the roof-likepath of footableexcess.

Nether-wardthe elbow flexed of beloved pre-bodieswarm-log leg did Ire-marchof a numb into mouththat could mixin-ebriatesplay-ful me.

The rolling twist solidof a combine hum-whif.


114

(Eros 3)His to hole-grapledsatur-ology.Misfruitful filled fullof an in-sackablepull.His own stream liketoatpre-vampedfrom hectorateof Dotchussinvectandplac-fulwhere it couldmark wellwhat thereal smearsaturateun-comfortabcessof itsventure pronelily same sunglily.


115

(Eros 4)Pre-agulatesniffthat drops intoremarking nuff-said.Here to hector-foresawed into be-halfof watsaid well-ford.Bellied of baldhis own dither.What dim dis-able effortshould his maskulmaster—but I made ithelp, help, with holdand else am Ire-elsethrough my orpheneddeep effortself.


116

(Eros 5)All keptall possible. Toucheddeposits of (3 smacks) kisses.

All boy his in a runtmake rukus rumple.But it so don’tso flipped itwas alert.More ghastly ventthan catalogue.Hip-roar-unt newand vast-again.

A million so renewhis boyness bebought in tremblenesstrue to pie.


117

(Eros 6)Boy-check marksall pavement.His hoofs-it himself.

(Speeding in airglass catapult selfcleansed remarkable double.Street hate, a soft unparalleledresponse.3-layered town-meunmarked except otherdrenched longing light.

Criss-crossed bufferedthat heart warmedby reach.

Pound now, squash radicalstrench malaprop speedsthe warm soft arrowinto it.)

Obviously.


118

(Eros 7)Fulfilled. Nothing.I vast wetthe appitite.

Drives wobblefrom heatand the heartmost makesof its vestibulea rockhit deepby wipesof meaning.


119

(Eros 8)The worldgone granular.Alas not—I wipeeyes with eyes.

I tastebrain hookedthe spun housecarpeted.

Lost toysin the fingersmultiplelike disappearinglocks.

Decorated thiefre-laidinto safe harborall-at-once.


120

The car turns.Ice breaksin a headof roses.

The wheels multiply.Prayer trafficwafflesinto the silverof handforeheadbody torque.

Double impress.My own x’d out relocation.eye-citylived through.


121

Encoded in my words a word.I stop speaking to speak.A whole language fallsfrom the dead body.

Contesting my action an actswivels the flesh.What rises?The suntwiststhrough the mobile windowon stairs.

Hope stretches but in the gapreal desireshiversglass on glassto de-penetratethe sky.

Birds boomsnowing into the ear.

Second lookssnuffthe eye beam.

Blown from the roseall petalsre-groupin a word.


122

His annual report:placedon the hit-table.Trellisfor arbitrary daudlemade-matched.

Grove-lossre-fingered flip intoalto-adjust.The rigid realmyou get targeted inby dirt.


123

Outside the facethe remarkable grimacethat bisected feelingsmotheredso that being movedwas a hard blow.

Belief or non belief.

When feeling happenedit wastotal venttotal hole-in-the-worldgrowingtil the wall vanishedwhich meantthe hole vanished.

Pure wind.


124

When tilted towardforgettable spacethe whole headwhirling for balanceidea plus blastbut blast stronger sending the bodylight-liketowards columnsmultiplicationsall treesinto the sigh-spaceof the quenched intelligence,

then and only thenseedsseen like rainpuddle the whole arenaof the faceand the smilesmartensthe mutual controlthat feeds on air.

And so gestureswith the blind handshine.


125

Too often to quotehe totteredblanketed up to the neckwhereupon the sharp eyestorque into cementand the stretched buffalo weightpressed flat by itselfrelic of dangerwhiff of naughthe remotes himself againinto the true spinand marks timewinningalways againat numbers.


126

After a day spend in tears— who was able to benifit from such long posponed business?The drive past the abestos factory?Pilles of white fiberwalls of white death.bump-o-fied.

Night drawn.Cataracts of loss.The tired tribes of timethat solidified.

Language as bed.Tired head into a cuppedfistfulpunching its way into the deep:forget me notof the externalcroaked circle of sound.

Bleached rump-letlong re-echoed quakesand I ranhome.

Here in the left or right handlifted to the mouthdry from prattlehe x-foamed‘it’ into its easy-opposite.

X’d into last placewhere the lovelost its toe holdon real estate but the brunchre-declairedre-tarded


re-tract-trenchfor food flowsbackwards mouth to brainso wordsformed like melonsbehind the eyesin a blink.

That fast.That super-animated.All solid.


127

The dawn rose in him.The alternative language spoke in him.He ceeded his own eyes.He closes his mouthforeverand stinksout of whicha discovery was availableto othersyet not made.

This capacity of life in a pinholethis brain too softenedby blowsswellsinto the thing it tried to escape.

You name it.He can’t.


128

Actstumble from headsand handstranslatefrom posturesof snow.

Migrant,white flakesnowinto multiple kiss.

Backed-upmemory—the grimace of effortspeedsnon-preferentalinto a pure thrustemptied.


129

When the great sun-mouth opensI myself lose sleep over bright nothings.I curl my fingersover this sleep-idea.I race.I fall down from my pants.I circulate like the crackers in a dry mouthspeaking with violence about self-same subjects.Nobody buys what I sell.Here I go againwashed out but brilliant enough to shinein my own eyes.


130

Spoken re-flowsto me.

So builtso dead pilesof the swoon-wedstickwords beatwith whispersweetness.

Gestures castfloor nearroll to self-usablemud.


131

Hisriptonceun-fledto wavedspecific.

The mountall dreadby the wordthat carcassed.


132

When a rough duckencountersthe sweet trespassof selfthenonly thendoes the headdippedleave its printon unkindwhimper-losses.

Red meattoo much animaltoo much hit-potentialand a toothquacked by doubtslivered the whole-glossof mind-eyed X.

Mineretouched by beautybrief, alashis own storyover-carcassed.


133

Against hordeshe collected hisantenna.

Against weatherhe droppeda prepared suitcase.

Against gravityhe rippeda sidewalk dedicated to brief flings.

Against youhe re-dreameda glassmicro-ton.

And himselfhe driftedlike unfortunateiron.


134

Who bespeaks me?The one who took off his glasses.Say better was not the idea.

The idea wasswim—in the swimablenon-plus.

I’m upside-reversethat’s why an eye-chartin the headsinkswordsfor the better.


135

The mouthlifts light.

The wordturbulenceunder icecracks magic.

These fingersthisarithmeticof moodsunder the lipwhere thunderrollsin speach holes refilled.blind.


136

When I’m knocked

—I’m ill—but not ill.

Then I collectedthe available hustleand brief smilescoat the toasterwith heatqualms.

Reluctant mealsre-dineon their ownenergynow.

(All thisreally happened.)


137

The eyesits in silence.

A derived Godshines meall fluid.A casein pieces.


138

Airplanes over the citytil flowers driftdepth-fulcrumedfrom built beauty

and the wingbeauten by goldno-sun collaboration

height aloneas mind temperature.


139

Analogous to rhymehe closed hands on a flowerand the rootlostcircled his lifesweeteness in a collapseall toldunder the great bellof non-adventure.

Ring ringin the lost syllableof delight so tongued.

Reverse torturesmellingof the fall.


140

I hadon or to the mindrosesbrain drilledhole entirefrom which lifespinsechoing the rosethat lessens it gripupon itselfto sweeteninto the agethat swells notbut driftson airsee thruablethrustinto the empty spaceof its ownpungentcenterless.


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Richard Foreman - UbuWeb · under its liquid-visible glow. ... All the hum-drum made such a loud...

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