Thomas Lowe Taylor - "...of shooting stars and brightness."

8/14/2019 Thomas Lowe Taylor - "...of shooting stars and brightness."

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of shooting stars and brightness.

last poems of

thomas lowe taylor

poems posted to http://pganickz.livejournal.combetween february 27.2009 and august 01.2009

chalk-editions http://chalk-editions.co.cc

February 27, 2009

SELF-STORAGE UNIT

A suit of clothes hung on the wall, only an imprinted shadow-print after afire, clothes hung the wall with its absence, signs of water having also left

some dripping presence on the wall of flame restarted by your silence onthe morning of evening. Here you are in a stupor, two flats down fromthe town itself eyed like a garden spot in retreat, you fly into thevapors of the words themselves overlaid with mother of pearl and thecompliant heavens carrying us forward at the speed of life itself in redsand blues and browns along the floor of light upon which we dance ourturns and spasms for the rising energies like pheasants running from thechasing dog while the beige colored mama sneaks up the hill into thegrowth hanging from the trees onto the mat of needles which makes herslink into her background camouflage

Raised from the water arisen tachonomy of light itself a raising too in thedoldrums of peace itself does the water fall away into an embrace of pressure to survive into the next evolution of what you might become onthe journey of your journey, samurai high-life resonates in the hallwaysfilled with smoke and perfume and mirrors. The tiny bird by the high


3/86

window beating like a hummingbird which it wasnt, coaxed repeatedlywith the broom until finally it seemed to give up or relax and then wasmoved to the open doorway and the broom shaken a bit and the birdflying away into the trees near the house, safe in its rescue and charm

out on the porch in the full moons sense of completion, three geese flewalong and over the canal which runs behind the house making a kind of reverie to the moment in the dark in the cool on the front porch. Highup in the old trees near the park at the end of the long road where fewhouses have managed to survive, high up in the trees on their limbsthemselves, ferns are starting to grow into the sunlight which churnsthrough the upper reaches like magical birds, the ferns some are ratherlarge, up about thirty feet, others no doubt higher.

The new tree which grows from the cutoff stump of its predecessor, thenew tree now about twenty feet tall. These are some of the signs madefelt along the road.

SUMMIT-TREE

Luxor hazelnut unrestrained vigor from the cellular walls inside time itself where no man sings. Aloud to the skies luxury apartments for rent nomaster products remitted under hand and arm signals against at the

sunset horizon online and everywheres else in victu. Narks the matterinside what was left here on the page wriggling no where the same sunglowing under a column of numbers now, now.

I hear hazelnuts lounging in the far distance, maybe the near ~~ theirfall rotundity demeanors no insignificant allowances for dust or mites;


4/86

hear the fog lifts to no uncertain terms, turning you into doubt itself.Heres the nugget itself, sounding out in the sentence with gusto, withguts ~~ the remarkable fall of hundreds from the laundry lists distributedat the market daily or not. Time enough.

The more recent hazelnuts declined amnesty and then carried onintensely enough to pardon the outers from their non-reminiscences;here was the new wafer, waiting at the fringes of the circle for there to beno more hot sauce on the sides of the knife to burn your lips and call thenew day a waiting game for people who have difficulty walking or evenseeing their shoes enlarge into the span.

Hazelnut my ass the cry went up into the rafters, afloat as they were;this was no time to dally or flaunt. Inside doubt was the answer wedall occluded for, hastening our own time-in-grade for the soldiers in thearmy of none. The cleaner read something in the tealeaves on the door,splattered upside down in a mimicry of the last hostages to leave theplane in their long underwear.

The trees bare hazelnuts daily twisting in the rain, here where the dirtunder the trees is vacuumed clean by a big machine you can ride, not asweeper exactly, but rather a grown affair not unlike a rider mower, butwith large inflatable and fillable bags mounted on the rear of the machinebetween the two rear wheels; now, when theres more than you canimagine do the nuts themselves pop and ride.

Calls retreat a newer nomenclature from which this pool this air no

masters aside the chrome horse he put it names the lighter hues thenorthern end of what retreated in the first place a cal a destiny a futurechasm seaming shut inside time itself is held at the arm of length the wetdirt floors all polished smooth by the bare feet of the other escapeeswhich reminds us of the eternity of the hazelnut.


5/86

March 11, 2009

1. Buff canal

A few more days til the rock star appears Boef his named saliencepeals the light away

marks your eyesore a framing fane Tom Jones nuts in a vice, squeakyclean Came the finality endorfed within struts or claim Your heart abeading entity within fore-whomed

A nude eel, a fashioned semen, clarified butter Arts my slimy side anewer dream to come aside

He claims aside no thicket ticket clams overside The mother fucker of light itself

2. Inquires after nothing

Your allowance penetrated my being Left fibers intact, implied that therescue was false

no hope before mournings was the line following (Im not talking.)

thus lamer tred, the focstle fermented, oversubscribed like a presents,floored into vivid documentary channels

the well-known tula-man hits, and then succumbs to silence Ivecalled you forward (to no avail) a former tune

Hear, the master-dine, your slimy, unattractive silence balloons This way,that, a wait-station. This airy due, unformalized or

Your needs and butts. I hear the sudden, sinking fermentations Deepwithin my plasms, the wet dusk of being at all


6/86

March 14, 2009

AT THE MARGIN.

Rain stains the window in darkness pinging hard against the glass whileswirls of energy rail over the roof like sponges at dawn claiming thenights heirs from their own songs, the coastal dunes reline these grassyknolls into their own eminent strains of being

shoreline distances between nothing and nothing else remain strongalong the tides lining of the hollow core of the margins lane among treeson their sides and piles of vegetable ruin where the open hours resideinside green and blue again.

Id clung along these leftovers at the edge of this plain next toanother plane of gray against a gray which is not the same, but movingforward among whats been left by a continent straining towardcompletion in hourly dimensions leaning left and forward in one motion.

Youd been the page itself whose words were grains of sandwinding among untitled monuments the wind whistling against yourface, stinging rows incite the sense of standing in the face of nothing which is the nature of your sign and gesture along the arcade.

Outside, chaos un-tamed by whats been the light source itself, song,movement and time collide against the tides moving one on one asunconverted remains strewn beside tire prints from big trucks as the feetof angels trail beside the forward constancy of motion

impel thought in its similarities toward a recognition of air and colorspecific in the charges laid against unknown substances striking your faceand hands like unwelcome dinners set around the table with no one inmind and then abandoned.

You become me in this haven the elements deny themselves, disorderremaining in its own destination from the center blazing inside itself like asign and outpost of the known into location and faction torn from timeand the space it has.. A series of accidents, a series of mistakes belittleyour witness what cascades across the margins opening in the darknessof the storm and call you down into the origin of a safety you thinksurrounds your partitions, called by the name you give doubt in its ownterm.


7/86

This wound betrays your stasis, walls moving in the sand beneath yourfeet seem pulled down into the water, clams swimming beneath yourstains of sand, billowing inert forces penetrating light-- the door is openand calls to you entering into your own destiny.

This is the hour at hand, the blast from the black edge of theworld inhabits your own unknown hand, hesitant on these keys at bestbelieving you stand and hold whats been ignored too long, a sentinel atthe peak of the house relives your building and song,

and lets the dizzying spin of thoughts storm become a wanderingtide the loom and weft of the woven ride this hour gives inclaiming anchor and palm, their own distances rising throughout thewinds hours thrown among the rolling dream which comes against yourthoughts; a broad gust reams the window tight against its frame and

juncture in the nights beating streams and shores flat and firm along theway, scheming in between whats known and whats not and thendreamed away too soon to leave and too late to cry a silent prayer intothe graying sign


8/86

March 17, 2009

from HOMAGES

162 Roped-out, pooled, the specific desig- nates remove or peel, thenterm,loop to sell, sail, elope to sentences. scatter throughout & mark, oftenamong the room & skip, sell & firm, the score of, line of, anteriorprofound, theleap to skip, heart, aloof or told, then mark to sell, sail, loves eyebegun, termed, then, at score & set, the shades belong or turn, prose,

red shapes red their rooms and sail again their dogs or ropes alsobegun there & there, looped, astir her red heart bloomed but

then alone the day & ript-out, salt, roam of lights duties, lost atsong & term held aloof or wrapt astir & sent, then, lights blueself and calm : we hold along the way, roomed out & slippt, asa worn and termed room becomes again becomes, sail, sail, sail.

163 Day to arrive, leafed at the foot, seen, journal of timesremembrance, or old.Your sleep might fit, but hold, to, to open parts unwound, again, & blue

airs wept. We saw the eagle, even here, heard his shrill & even tone,winged

out & called. Not today, though, but sloops & centers, the suns moodof, her :and see, too, how they hold, art of line & grace, the trees speak, birds

of the earths feathering, yoked, pushed around, then, the heartsanchoringin place or half among the distances, pillowed into resonance, spoke towhatis firm & distant, seed begun, room of the airs beginning, light spent atopen doors, yr mouth receives, too, at song & line, no manacle to doubt,asimple resonance unwound, force to air simplicity, fold enfold, air to life,a

breath away, and set; hawk or pin, the roof is plain & empty, send theday, along.


9/86

April 05, 2009

Reach

alarming sentries remote denote in their harfier splume and tango. Yoursat the hedge removes no collar into this ream of doubt this is the due,the portico calm emoting from your disks; nows the hour goes the song

from far across the sea I love you in times of war where the colors redand blue dork the limno into submissive airs, heirs, our new timebeckons. Where else speak but here? calls perfume another illusion of time and space, likened to the worst and the best of times. Walla to you,too. Li,kened to her perfidy and shame

.

face deal sponto lutes stucco adobe dude erect poles vengo as admiresyoks not effendo inside boomer strokes lining cover shed light no maskshear the strum one another leaves the room across a curse acrossrepeated many times head last pole gear light names of names the flotsthe school crossing not remanded blues and names and bass strokes onthe speaker hears a name looting the air inside what you are now that itslights

.

pust gram tacit among their moons bellowed argle adrunt the looting fen,hair up to, these arcs of folks out of time, shelves the broken liners poolto the headier blows their hours at hand reaching reaching into the stuff for the new juice, alert to all chasms charm the beast from your doorstepagain the tides have broken drumlike in the distance; hears the looterpsalm with easter approaching would mark the rising of born againagain was not so much the scale on the window with all hands on deckas your name riven and spuntered into the classier air

.healded spinky knocks the hour from under you. Declarative monumentsare not asided but revealed in their fortitude and palm. Lucks out. Spininto lager folds rum recalled. This air folds the new air around you. Pushand shove in the hall for tunes ate the airs. A flooded liner of doubtfumes at the school-door bully narcs you out. She picked up my pipefrom the floor regret over lost things. Stupidity and willingness elude


10/86

porkers. This air reclings through like tough and scuough, replinted fromthe nuker dee but this air naming you one after the other.

.

dry master at your door.the loser ray fluxus nomenclature withoutcode.lights the hours now and then. .your day on the wring fingers.Theyre far beyond me. This joy of belonging somewhere not recluded.The open sentence calls willingly from along the way you silly man.These particular plums were not melded nor affirmed to stretch. Roofsthe doors and windows with plaster. The small animals scooting underthe house. Arranging to have your best friend. Oven timing a criticalnuts are piled again.

.

and like willingly tells the harvest not to squirm or pressure them at allbut rise arise into light and time and other one liners cling and posturetheir imitations of what is there to be witnessed or streamed into thesphere-sphere not unincluded but left on the table of love for anotherhand on the spine of forgiveness leaves you clinging to the raft of desirewithin what called you forth in the first place unrelenting strife of theelectric current pooling through your veins with all these repositories of energy right now the beach 4.09

Leave a c


11/86

April 16, 2009

Rancorous deceit

Rancorous deceit, the usual; no one is really surprised, more business asusual than a fluxus on the doormat of fate, Frank Zappa suing imitatorsfrom the beyond. O wel, its a living, stuck on the floor like hazmatchickle-nut glue and screw assembly on the cabs by the back door -- laya proper, heald her plinty, next and then some culls the spot and cinderon the mix outside unreplenished yet still an artifact in memory the nameof which

.

What came across, maybe on the slower itself, no mere matter indisguise but the real thing hidden under itself; the nocturne of emissionswas in full bloom, flowering all over the place in a frenzy of transmission.Before the day no music mattered in the scloset behind the door. It wasa sullen refuse claimed in the hours left behind in the hurry to leave.Impersonal. You might say.

.

Tempest by a siege implanted on the fore dunes empty horizon on thebeachgrass linear to the edge of the light and then infused beyonddestiny without pity. No reply on winds of change which lie against thenoon you recall just after or sentenced. No pliance. No astir on theleavens but dressed and calm atide the loomer spec which allays all noiseyet becomes what covers the ground without sensation

.

Eyecare. Earmarks made a move and slid inside for a score, then relaxedon the side with a honey on his arms and twisters running on the

overside, like doubt. They heaved. Whats to be done in the alarum of eveningtide spread around the rising rushes one on one with the causesand their particular avenues toward the known; as has, so let in thedistances of being which carry the silence of the surrounding spaces intothe known.

.


12/86

Like pulling teeth from your skin where theyve suddenly pushed throughfrom another inside you never dreamed of as if all dreams were not thesame, then left on the window to dry-out into their more marketablepresences. Youd clear the mineshaft with rocks and stones rising fromthe carved silences below you on another floor from the teeth themselvesarrived in the late afternoon with a smile and a flounder in the suns airs.

.

At a loss for words, the tangled web receipts you backwards into thefoundations of speech itself glowing from a perimeter and then slowing toa halt. New hours release the signs into air itself removed yet improvedinside the liners also cull the air of its magnificence which is melted orfurthered from description to event as if some allowed principles wereflouted or expressod from beyond the fringe you energy up to it

.

how you Are is up for grabs the crowd at the funeral was definitelysubdued with love for the departed guy, a little stunned with hisremaining immediacy from beyond the fringe. Like the ship going downwith all hands raised in recognition for the journey they have against thetides and seasons in their disregard for our own urgency which loomsagainst the sky at all times and in all places as we drag our bodysacksalong the trail.

.the beach, 4.09


13/86

April 20.2009

stretch test

pullet bullet, the fractional place of palacial vistas unwound tight calls outto envelop your specific detail remiss to charter polarity ensigns your hotdealie into submission and then some latent fingertips respond to thepiano at recluse and time for the other allowances are not remarked norheld aside in lesser dominions clear the house of all interlopers haveseized the day away from you now restricted movement passports

.

venue closer health issues knocked out a color wasnt here at all thesisdroop the light is complex enough to read Im your knocker off basekilting short songs on the pipes balls in the air rotund yet abandoned tothe foresters calm demeanor arks you tight to the wall as if notmentioned climax of grid stations rays of buds entrained without pity as if no mere schema were approached from where began fair venue closerstains the relevant ice

.

too many harps are sudden barenaked ladies on the rumor stilling yourhearts woe betimes the light is curled improperly straight ahead climbingironies detail the default hours into their stasis and palm how you aredriven toward various precipices holding your dick intended no master onthe means of whats left for the others to see again holds them stuporthan knot is curled within the plank of woe mens tiny hearts beatingloudly

.

moves across gander heightened alert onside demeanor curls empty

knots reliquary into mornings stillness laughter on the moors recalls yourown details on the face offers now require presence and a passport forexclusion lingers now and then a wholeness or lasting effort clings asideno meter in your mists arriving now and then you stop and sing againand again around the corner of this elongated couplet stretching out intothe inky dark

.


14/86

quarter dollar narrative attached to coinage not unlike a restaurantwithout food but great menus turned face down on the table unwillingdeceit colors the months ahead are not abandoned yet skilled withintastes as if you were not allowed to enter here any more you cling to thesiding as it blows off overhead no measures have been taken up by thenames and seasons you carry beside you the moment the clear closure of segments again

.

longer sousers cling wrap allowed silence puts out sidereal loot craps lostwithin hearing over rates the sound of noise itself a golden parachuteapproached and sudden not the lines youd half expected from rubberhangers soft penetrando the right gesticle eaks your dormer duesfluxuant or knotty in her laps and seasons culls the red yellow disks to

the drink and beyond is soon enough to never end clicking on within thehours and days

.

the beach its willing statutes to allow consent or option seals the doorwayhalfway knocks the lighter hues as higher into the light above ismentioned again in the old books nor heard from where this lingering tidebespeaks your hours now and again youve held me in the darkness of my lonity from other issues the carnival or wren clings the heads grueland fortune of the others in their lines and reasons, heavyset,

internalized, looser skies

.

the beach 09


15/86

March 21.2009

saves laser

saves laser dues beyond to the max hears furniture destiny clingingwithout sensation is the norm on whats lost against the tides, like afurther, like a nougat density teething tight to the norm has yourattention now in repeated tides are not met within hearing or whats beenabandoned from the natural and the colorful respite your answer clues atlasting nights are not foretold or even left aside but held the bummerwalk is losing now

.

ive not missed mass nor carpal engrams twisted around your finger like agirl or not then left aside to these mists of unknown things have notbeen asided nor split into parts are not a rankle left unturned, nor hereinternal rhymes are not flagged nor even pulled into the rising terms areleft unsaid or not spent cartoons on the floor like you shouldve done inthe fires place has your history kept inside words are not lent nor stabledbut held

.

the due. helps at the term and then let astir is not implication but doubt

imploded from hazel eyes and skin relinquished your other attention asdone or flung, the outer skills are not herded nor even schemed as if notreminds the less-tense hours are remanded clay like muddy dirt thensqueezed or folded then cooked at high woodfire temperatures was adream in the wilderness of the ancestors piling up their utensils andschemata is not left

.

his is, then wept, nor left aside in the hurry to leave the scene of life itself was my mother trying to hurl over the parapet yet falling back throughthe picture window slider into the room, a failed attempt yet one notignored nor even made known in the less internal buds were laid out in abaggie to dry to the air before smoking in the little tiny glass pipe youfound across the river in a salient hour of recall and reminiscence was notremembered

.


16/86

hours of marching music played loudly by a brass band inside your head an error into mornings disregard and sorrow how the airs revolve andterminal your heated schools are let among natives or foreign agents of the spatula and scissor-kick mentality of poems in their nakedmonuments are still the sign of the times whereas not rememberedsenility from the houses on the street unoccupied unafforded andunoffended from the hours here

.

defilade at the hoses coiled inside the doorway sprung from billboardsunintended layers were posted and then kept aside as if not central norfolded was columnar yet stiff to the touch on earth yet not besided intothe hours kept apart from the minutes and seconds to preserve theirpurity and sense of purpose is hardly the way to go but not included here

to the sense of your own ownership is not let go nor made drunk in theevenings again now

.

you know the rest. here the day slips inside and claims its own space forimitation and lesser stories from the borderland are still the stranger talesyouve measured for length and breath in the claimants history notremoved from the terms youve defined as truth to the dominion andcontainment to the other lines youve met here and there in the darknessof your own history as it unwinds inside you to remain the same again

and here

.

the beach


17/86

May 30.2009

five poems

bluesmoke

calld hour our time resumes from what are not betimes, roast clue, theformat, unrelenting knot inhabits formal attributes resists bluejean or cutapart ,meat dish crawls inside brain cell, matters cool to the touch,asided, portent asided humorous detail relining aparts lingo spiel leaningoutside makes a distant noise, clue and shiners plugging on the groundnow

*

yielded plinth

a forced stair looking ahead into heres the doorway leaning nouns eyesapart to the focus flooring is distant instructions clot the hair your owntimepiece clanking loud this air streaming loots parts again blue to thesigns ochre looms due harps the sudden opening is clues a slower tuneencompass and beware the loomer spinning again and stop as if notmonitor or precise to clear

*

heals newer toy car desktop population serene the the internal is notspent nor clue but aloof to rheums the movie comes window opened to

rumors claiming dense their own parts laying and precise afardd ricksthe plume its own demonstrations hover inside thought a reminisceekes doubts colors and not butcher and palm blood spilled by stapled-intwo by four plain is whats remote nor clue to formal linings blue and readand clean hours are hear the tunes becalmed oysters newt

*


18/86

it yield loose or termed hoses puny leaks at school birch fittingincompleted houses grew fumes of memories not made at all alight and

final in the tempo clusters clears the summary as detail nor terms notinfernal nor absolute, but and calm affirms no muter in the clear dusk of light the floors are not firm nor skates amore punta glorier splints floodspushed aside not from details assumed proper lights to this beside you inthe dirt dark door duck

*

testicle stick

hopes & fears, unit to claim red dusks these few claims not met butsailed into hopeless density mulls the hours in some porches blue andgreen and said the hours not cool nor even spent areas map of duskytours the market sinks in tunes not swept hover larks belong tomb theseand those, allowed to climb and tune the lights into somewhere nowagain is spoke the loom the loom and halts now

*


19/86

May 30.2009

five more poems

love nuts

dog shadow, in, that is, along porch to narrative implied paragraphs thenovel clings this air to terms colored spaces linear doves these astir yourpaper criss-crossed blue lines are sacrificial eggs in boiling water hearsthe rooms are knots and shine all of relevant and hoses flung outsidemelons are not sandwich enough to call out from whats not spoken out isstill implied in whats neighborly enough clear out and clue infernal

rhymes into the day*

comealong your eyes have binge polarity inside doubt nor distant localethe party unfavorite claims the other dude recoils in piety or from itnow and then a portion remaindered on the ledge from whomsoeverseeketh the coils dont lie slinky down speller checked by whats unsaid acommon theme yesterday is started anew in each line not repeated nor

alarumed by the book you left on the doorway to foreign songs thepost nor spent by time reclined to hours inside the head

*

smudge

opening porches clean the sky nomenclatures colorful density porks calmderision the green onion of the clock resumes your own hedgesat memory flung like liking in the air around you comes between us nor

more enthralled whereas some escape called for yet not verb or nouninside time remoted hours cling from top to ark the slow mood inside thelayers are nearly mode operantus ive halted inside your holy reminisceasided narks removed from the action by your leave, levee

*


20/86

im not heanded the recompense absolute still not seen is withindistance and arrival like a person in the photograph walking round thesound some sudden interruption of silence from the gourd itself anothernewer instance of someone calling in the dark for removal and stain onthe ceiling of your mind is not said nor claimed lodecin from next tonothing is affirmed nor proper in the mood of evening where you left thepaper growing inside me

*

left or send her

plummo arras megistated left not out salils eclipso withink nor pommerstil the lesto imagined no blamed attached from hest nor pinter on themusk istle suffix arc the pony-wall assisted living inside tomescent ire norpleasure coals their humor afforded blues and pinks at the table flung outof distant regions to the hour of the open door is still open at your heardarmed true to speak, easy off

June.1.2009

four poems

moreover asided out from heavier destinies lurks a passion from the reach of time

as you are and in these remarks finding new pressure into the outworldof the regions of pasture and action on the face of it plastered into moreremote ankles are forded like a mean lurks again the nomenclaturewrapped as if to find turtle and smooth the linear porkpie rumor andstrange enveloped arks the light remove smoothe align toward specialmarks

*

fifteen stars

the lurx nay pinto in the lumor screen now cails or inter lapidary hosedthe airs newts efforta nox tumor parts ahead nor piner dude too far


21/86

among, the empty clutter suffice and rain near portico and claim thetrophy utter along the side of the road where you popped the leaks, or faroffen lingo schools you door where im atom becalmed linkers nowpool play far eminisce the lighter boles remove a caller in the nighthearing the hiss on the wire

*

pufferbilly your own requirements unregistered plaints within theframe of wisdom you inherited as of the lingering tides not recompensebut stirred among your ashes within the pools of cowl stores affirmedpressure keeping alive these arts of science pooled like aprophecy mingling inner secrets from their opposition made remit andsane the foreknown anchor whats the jungle fever surrounding myself in

the dunes of favor themselves recluded to an uneven bar upon which toalleviate all

*

incur path

lingers aside the pond no remembering however blank the forestersclaims are derided in the television ark as if youd cleaned clocks for aliving alone longer than that these are along the waving arms arepetals descent from whats allowed inside time no pity or remonstrancefrom the history of literature a comment or cemented alliance amongthese strangers of contest from the linear polarity no mention of thecloseted pet youve alerted to my glowing hide and seek pleasures werethose alided from video monsters in the closet

*


22/86

June 14.2009

four poems

moreover asided out from heavier destinies lurks a passion from the reach of time

as you are and in these remarks finding new pressure into the outworldof the regions of pasture and action on the face of it plastered into moreremote ankles are forded like a mean lurks again the nomenclaturewrapped as if to find turtle and smooth the linear porkpie rumor andstrange enveloped arks the light remove smoothe align toward specialmarks

*

fifteen stars

the lurx nay pinto in the lumor screen now cails or inter lapidary hosedthe airs newts efforta nox tumor parts ahead nor piner dude too faramong, the empty clutter suffice and rain near portico and claim thetrophy utter along the side of the road where you popped the leaks, or faroffen lingo schools you door where im atom becalmed linkers nowpool play far eminisce the lighter boles remove a caller in the nighthearing the hiss on the wire

*

pufferbilly your own requirements unregistered plaints within theframe of wisdom you inherited as of the lingering tides not recompensebut stirred among your ashes within the pools of cowl stores affirmedpressure keeping alive these arts of science pooled like aprophecy mingling inner secrets from their opposition made remit andsane the foreknown anchor whats the jungle fever surrounding myself in

the dunes of favor themselves recluded to an uneven bar upon which toalleviate all

*


23/86

incur path

lingers aside the pond no remembering however blank the forestersclaims are derided in the television ark as if youd cleaned clocks for aliving alone longer than that these are along the waving arms are

petals descent from whats allowed inside time no pity or remonstrancefrom the history of literature a comment or cemented alliance amongthese strangers of contest from the linear polarity no mention of thecloseted pet youve alerted to my glowing hide and seek pleasures werethose alided from video monsters in the closet

*


24/86

June 14.2009

four poems

duct-a-phone

id smoothed unspoken densities into a new renoun and sentence from heouter attributes in through the tiny wire and further toward newlytowering reefs and pleasures which stood at century and palm for thelater floods altered by a former voice which finds hourly relief in simplerforms adopted from the lesser rotunde at slur and palm she rises into anunfamiliar musk which blossoms forward from the leaning hours as if youd called my name again in the dark signs

*

cusp unknown unremarkable coalitions sprout their claims arguableconnections spread linear charms are kept afloat in tune with whatsspoken at scissors flung outer mites click against the new tides strokingthe lighter miles herein after the spoken claims are met inside his fat cellsreunite the foreign stamens yodel at their hemisphere youd made yourown insensate turmoil a fathom of the dark side in your own lessonsmarked out like lumens

*

resource dorks

some lung tissue missing a gasp goes up, recluded tempo of videodramaturgy chokes up into the nether region of scopic sneaking a look atthe other realm youve only imagined in schools and books on the shelf, alesson you dont know either, and thats just fine. spiel the dusker booze,face the longer thyme as has so let the formula for whatever makes thesimple people so in their unremarkableness clinging and calling out foranother chance hour

*


25/86

leets plesr doam

uhv kumpetsd eid haddam, his announce, or eyed hadem, southernboy. this narrative of momento heals you down straight miss- ive intomonuments, but laden his brother a myth of centuries, er, sentries all

lain aside for tunate hedgerows, the mist, in the mist of whats infernal oropposed at least by the gnome of your own name upside down motiveswill not relieve your destiny from its absolute in the name of what you aretonight baby

*


26/86

June 16.2009

two poems

el crustado

form along coastal waterways the foam of it clinging underside yr brightlight inhabited in the wave like a dome or a rock on the intensity of thehours you left behind in the hurry to leave at all and make an island of intention and replication of the chosen one into your own destinationfrom the music on the radio falling through your hearts silence a harp orsudden an hour at your lights

*

associate of withdrawal

beyond the clamor of dignity where the dark ore gleams in the night likean armor or a reflection from the obsession you have with me as wellas others in your group have apparently signed off from the tangiblepresence they exaggerated into an hourglass turning in the light on theshelf below your own attempts at formulation and disregard, how calm isthe dark road of night when youve stepped out of the car and make yourway to where the road has to go and what it tells you

*


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June 18.2009

two poems

redundant spasms

heare the malignant hours tweaking inner claims on your attention fromwhats been strewn along the shore without claim or pity for the unknownsubstances who roam the hours among your body cells like a mountingpleasure or a forgiven insult on the tunes of the day among your foreignsubstances unmet spontaneous forays into the non and beyond out intothe sunset claiming its bit of space for a new mountain thrushed amongits own distances in the distal figure come again among the dreams youmight have had in the time you had

*

the latent hours

first off the rack, stuttering among hedgerows, a choice becomes yourlong-standing position on the shape of things deep among your memoriesand instances of self doubt and pressure among whats been left behindin the hurry to leave by those intrepid souls who claim our attention whocome too soon to know and too late to say whats what and whos whom

among the wandering souls who monitor the light among us and cometoo soon to claim our attitudes are not unreasonable claims made on ourattention by what is there as definition and repose in their particulardensity and truth

*


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June 23.2009

two poems

nur malaki

across the bread missouri came the four hundred in their cloakedmemories which would not matter any way at all in the sheen of thangswhich palates your place without any announcements nor pity in restraintcalls the flux you see in any climate these hours would pay dearly forsunlight and portion their own control onto plates and seasons for thedisregarded on your own hours to identify the empty shores you sweep innext to the girl on the greyhound so many times you dont any longerremember who was who and what may or may not have happened in

your mind*

nor malag-kie

snore yore photos tight unasided tarps clark th hour here the thrustfrom late in the day reclaims your distant aims and forces lines emergentproperties within chants youd climed the air-stare holds attention at thelesser dues and seasons on the wane already passed tents are not

renewed but foamed like starling hours from the starting lineinside memorys insufficient landscape of ancient cities in specific detailwhere youd plodded along the trail with music on the latent evidenceportrayed in the medium rare destiny youd called into play with anuneven hand displayed for all to see

*


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June 25.2009

poem

crossing, closing

dull ache what is real besides dinner on the plate or a goodride in the darkness rising between sunset and sunset as if no other mattered on the face of it rising through flames ina posse of attributes are let beside the memory of group a distant repose on the closing of the door between now andthen a subtant or redux allowable on the stories told fromhere to there another crossed-out utterance modified hereat the least of it smothered or made plain in the days nowa couplets reign of error culls the days overhead into aspasm or a passage between equal stations on alert today

*


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June 26,2009

poem

passions entry

whose simpler, singular terms explore nor eloquencefrom disaster realmed within the airs left behind in asudden whoosh of wind aimed outward into the heavenslike a departed scion on the time of light itself unremovedfrom lesser dreams are kept aside by no means uncertainand unrestrained by any song and dance man would under-stand from the sidewise repositioning of the gaunt outsider spun onto the flame of attention by instructionsfrom the inside of words themselves carry the day outfrom whats been unintended all along the watchtower

*


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June 27.2009

poem

healds web

nor pinto recluse did not come again into the realm of doubt upended liking dusk nor attributes of calm are asyoure on top of this magnificence undeterred by anylines lighting up the sky from whats been ignored toolong in the empty airs we called our own destiny andwrapped inside the action itself into a newer time thanhas been there before now to mark the hours meant orheld infirm by the hours in the pen weve spent apartand let burn on the angles of retreat as if youd startedfrom the lesser demons called blue and green against

*


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June 28.2009

poem

we came unfurled

flapping in the wind of our desires and unspoken hourstherein some defense weighs in at the looser gallop fromstation to attention on the husk of renewable presencesat the loner sign upended and made clear of the old andyet a harvest of the newer rhymes wed declared modernin our own lag-time of newer hopes and dreams from alesser god diminished and made personal on these hoursweve come together in this mass of destinies crackingthese days into more malleable portions of controlyet marking these trails with our particular linearity


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June 29.2009

poem

rains plein

your own endless ditch to hoe and row into infinitegardens on the highway in the planter strip betweenlanes of fast-moving stars of stage and screen insidetheir own doubts over the disposition of product intoresident castles wherein extra capacity flows from adestitute climate onto roof gardens and other dirtierelements of renewal and feeding from one animal toanother entrapment within the confines of readingwords and phrases into their rhythmic counterpartson the days celebrations revealed in song and dance

*


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June 30.2009

poem

that which arose

he didnt paysage he new in favor of some other that much is certain and how the function of memoryseemed more to imprison in linkages to ones failure,ones history of coming up short sort of a prisonin cinematic recall coming down the street in newcostumes of our habits which never take the tale tothe heights or depths deserved in the possession onefeels to the escape from linearity of present momentspulling forward into and within new connectionsand the leaning potential written on the walls again

*


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July 01.2009

poem

rasta cup

perhaps at the beginning an overture againstpremature action in which initiative is lost andone is left foolishly in the parking lot of intentwhile as it always does the beat goes on into ahasty forgiveness towards ones delictor or hischampion in the midst of fools wherein one sub-scribes to the latent doctrine of the hours at thevery least there buried on the page of your livre ancien more an afterglow of history than a buzzfrom the baited glances of the loud overseers now

*


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July 06.2009

poems

innocent dreams

I came away too soon to be recognized myself forwhat was there in the first place like a signal at nightrising through the fireworks into an orbit around thefamiliar and the distant both at the same time risenin mists of chance and eloquence which come atus unawares even of who we are any longer in thisflux of strangeness which we call our history on theplanet devised as we are by some intelligence otherthan our own one hopes and then the alliances withour various selves becomes eloquent and silent again

*

carry forth

what underlies daily ceremonial agendas at the grillbecalms the hearts forgiveness into admission andsentience for the slower attributes on this particularday in the history of anywhere is nonetheless filledwith pops and screams from the heavens where theopen door resides into these newer realms where alonger hour claims our attention for more eloquentspeeches and music on the mists of light playing atthe opera in your mind again the dancers mute theirlessons for the terms they have laid out for all of us

*

July 07.2009


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three poems

where am i

theres a resistance to a base level, a here-and-nowon the face of it at least resembling what was madeas an offer from the organization of relieved statesbut who knew the dreams of history were just thesame as what had preceded on the want list of duskwe all live with and the promise never reached activeand the primary lesson became more of one on howto hide in the mass protected by the bodies of themrolling on the floor with an expression of loss on aface here and there defied recognition to just stare

*

what cometh

near-far syncope in the dark dusky moments beforeyou strum the air guitar interior minds escaping lightfrom the nether realm associates the darker sides attheir own service from release calms the pathway ismade at the bridge of thighs you call me down intothe mornings blink moments are arriving to tell youwhats coming your way today is close enough to bethe realer of the choices you made in those early hourswhen the day is forming up to let you in on the secretwouldnt surprise anyone any more than you let them

*

funeral

tear-duct hoses snake across the dusky parking lotthe sawdust machines just now leaving the area anunintended desert-circus lot complete with a blackferris wheel and large black-painted elephants whodance on their hind legs with their trunks twirledwhile the silent black clad choir the sharptonettesa group of middle-aged men with little beards who


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overpronounce the whiny lyrics of the song I amthe world coming off the speakers as the familynow numbering six hundred rock and roll to money

*

July 07.2009


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poem

franchise

you came across this particular wilderness intothe year in potatoes when there wasnt any elseof what we were on the worlds stage a patternon the ground was all that was left of our carsand stentorian elocution a quiet desperation atthe ends of things we werent used to quiet de-nouments on the sands of thyme and time atour delictation a measured desperation withoutname or pity fills the air around us willinglyand fries our sun again into its constituent parts

*

July 08.2009

two poems


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from anew

threadsacross what passed for new or normal eitherspace fits your starts and pageants are the normfor what is coming through the room at largecentral to these bright mornings with the windmoving through the out side air moving cleanand partly new and still the way we make thisaside from how we seem or see along the roadto the beach welcomes us into the days air onall fronts seething and seasoning our rightnessinto the sky above the sand below and dreaming

*

larks adue

no latch in the door marks an age of piracy justnow recluding out from the hidden one into vastspaces tendered inside the actions themselves asalchemy prepares your meal of rats and dust inthe golden bowl like a thick soup on your plateanother scrim saddled by foreign elements hasyour clinker spasmed by doubt into the layersof light diminishment which clot the air aroundthe harsher climates are unremarked by weatheryet clear the signs of their emotive value here

*

July 09.2009


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two poems

larks adue

no latch in the door marks an age of piracy justnow recluding out from he hidden one into vastspaces tendered inside the actions themselves asalchemy prepares your meal of rats and dust inthe golden bowl like a thick soup on your plateanother scrim saddled by foreign elements hasyour clinker spasmed by doubt into the layersof light diminishment which clot the air aroundthe harsher climates are unremarked by weatheryet clear the signs of their emotive value here

*

slower faster further

deeper than tha snow around your faces in thewintry night of appellations where the sky doesntrain or twirl into the pages on the floor where youdleft them striving out after recognition on the platewarbling outward from the center of meaning nowand then a pustule on the side of your face remindshow process is now always kind or final yet thedoor reminds how easy it is to unknot your self anew or outer in the harmony of light we inhabitfrom time to time escorted by the powers at bay

*

July 10.2009


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poem

copyright, tenure

these permanent positions last til midnight nowand then relapsing to pure order on the schemeof things related to the one who came before youthe skyline stretched taut in this wilderness darkthe silo looms suddenly from the darkened flatlandscape in front of the headlights sweepingalong in the darkness of escape and transit toa newer place inside time itself breaking on theshore of your own receipts beckoning loudlyfrom one side of the room to the other again

*

July 11.2009


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poem

sears profumo

nears the scar not willing to perfume stasis norreclamate collar on the nose of things profoundas what has passed among us for the truth we callaloud for help or less but then assume the worstas what decides our motives is not sense nor outerbut called upon the dusk of where weve been asidethe brooking flask or its indigent outers as if wedbeen here before and why not excludes the ark of the convent spread across the human landscape fluxand marker as the light spreads around us willingly

*

July 12.2009


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poem

a steel climb

its a further star from what were used to, somedestiny profounds into the pleasure day like knowingagainst the rocks and fathoms of our own journeys intohow you called me back into the fray without a thoughtfrom what lay ahead at the mornings insistence like aforeign hours where I pled you down into the sink withpity and remembrances thrown upon the waters watersbefore the land changed again into the opposite of whatit meant to be still we worded out the remains of the dayin some other format than this one claiming to be read

*

July 14.2009


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poem

code of rote behavior

alas rehearsed motives elude even the rest of us fromwhere weve ended up into a portrait of small habitsdescended from whomsoever seeketh in process or outerweather report notwithstanding summers up the daywith questionable practices magnified and then eludedfrom the consequences which might be capitalized intoa newer recompense from what had proceeded beforethe parade started without me in the crowd behind thespeaker was not so funny but left us all with a bad tasteas the remainder collided outside the boundaries again

*

July 15.2009


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poem

blues

non ephemera the strictly local variety clings yr wrapis spent in tumor magnificence clinging as we are toforgotten feelings stuck in the ground on a gray daycentral to this she lifts my spirit with a long hug andthe news repeats again and again on the tuning box itstrangles in the corner of today where we have well-meaning pharmacists warning us against suffocationin the midst of sleep-filled dreams are purifying at thelongest moment leaping from crag to peak and downinto the valley of light where we transit daily and again

*

July 16.2009


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poem

maxoplatenousnesslymentoism

todays notoriety comes with a dry heave at the rheumon time for the rest of the show to make do with whatsbeen left by the door by way of inheritance and demeanoron the residues of the last bunch to pass through the gateand the next coming along with less than what precededthem into this particular morning's mist on a heated day tomake the seeming stretch of whats left to see a particularlymore rose calm and distinct beauty on the grounds of a newrandom pattern which never retreats but compounds to thisdense but otherwise neutral pattern we call beauty & clime

*

July 17.2009


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poem

aisle of de seat

overt now less than before your newer climate actssuddenly a mover on the sands of time itself insidethe moving platform crushing all forms of inactionand stasis are not so much inert as simply left asidein the hurry to accumulate energies otherwise heldfor invading armies and their particular needs are thegray day descending from summers heat in the valleyis not so much an abscess as an irony on the life of plants and animals rooming across the plains againat the stars descending throughout climate control

*

July 18.2009


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poem

gaslight

scanned before the heavens sent a message from aboveyour own particular airs call the morning early & quietor are you certain of that information spreading throughthe skies lightening at this hour of dawn and grayness inthe neighborhood a mixture of snow and sleek weatherunreported from the preceding gossip columns are notexactly news nor are they gossip but the hard edge of tacton the senses laid bare by the hour of the day in which torest or rescue is still the order of the emerging day againyou reach out and find the other side warm and sleepless

*

July 19.2009


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poem

vegmatic

cool on cue the modern mastic clings our visions parableto none prior in the scene of time itself no resembler at thepoles of light we call boundaries in the mists of chance or asingular crawl across the distance between here and now isstill a yellow stain among the gray layers overhead summerday at the earliest part has music on the radio in old waltzand promo formula the slight beginning of the days ownhours are still arranged around the first cup of coffee anda gathering yawn on the face of it normal enough for thisand calling out to the others to follow across today again

*Leave a comment

July 20.2009


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poem

yuron deckit

nay plasma secretion overtures the only hours we havetogether marking the tides one by one as they encroachwithin hearing nor proper declinations foal the air withreaching tones for the days colors emerging just nowa future longing to be seen among us as if some artisanwere at work on the preliminary hours for the rest of life itself masks the newer hours our own pun on thetone of strife and pleasure emerging nations rise at amoments notice to become what they are in the mistof light itself cloaking more obscure tempos from view

*

July 21.2009


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poem

forced tempos

against no odds at all forms the choir on your left handairs are not removed but thrive unchecked by any otherarise betimes the lines remorse nor alien checkpoint islaid among the tiles reminding all of the sacrifice to thedays orientation among foreign stars unplayed in theseformal hours arriving like musical elements to anthemsand calculations marked in the turning of the colors of the day into their opposites streaming from the objectsthemselves like unappealing choices for political officehails the chief reclining in the heat of others for renewal

*

July 22.2009


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poem

safe haven

allied toward unions clear and silent triumph at the heartno mere salience from objects themselves inert sentenceslove the hearts willingness to recall and move on into thisair clinging to my skin with molecules of light inhabitingthe silence around a moving body in the room untended byany clearer substance clinging to your hands like light andsustenance from the open door inside your heart which istime itself unending layers from the inner dunes reboundinto the marks along your body which are unattached byany chords and rhythms from the ever present music now

*

July 23.2009


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poem

lanyard collapse

coming across the planes to a new economy at lastthe same old challenge persists over honesty and aforced penetration of the allowable prescience intodays own respite at these gray and leafy windowsat the desk fronting my chair onto the beyond maxas the hours rote and pressure on the cuticle of yourown ministry into the unknown where it outlasts eventhe succor and plenitude of the open seasons foreignhours on the marker at your local design shop stickswhere it might at last become a knotted rope again

*


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July 24.2009

poem

rotunt elixir

surrounded intermittent scanner first call for the day isblank not full although no meter plans your outburst anew day away is surfed up through the skylight into theportions of gray and red and blue flowers which mindyour pleasures seeing and yet believing in this passageinto other realms which contain every moment in itheirrange and scope for revealing the secrets of the day insome magnitude to heal the open door is always openfrom passage outward for the liner notes to read wellenough continues us in our quest for new lights today

*


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July 25.2009

poem

poster loop

comes as the gray sign of morning clears the air withsigns of ancient dunes and pilasters drawn upwardsinto lighter scores for the hearts beginning of theday we started out for something in a non existentfuture but a promise nonetheless on the sands roundour parapet and song rising through the obscure andequally ancient masks of the dancers floating throughthe liner notes with cardboard and iridescent castlesfilling the hours with the promises we kept under usfor the duration and pleasure of the hours we have

*


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July 26.2009

poem

hazled walnuts

watched the night pass by the hour, no matter in silenceyour passion fruit exclaims from teak and mauve roomshow the acher feels his dues in the midst of plenty nowas if no other saw this particular moment beyond the mewho lurks inside the line a fervent prayer to something aline or two on he pavement, a bit of writing on a wall isnot effacement but its random cousin on the terms madefor purposes of identification at the sodden clasp you arein this silence of purpose where we meet every day andcurl our toes round another smooth stick buried in sand

*


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July 27.2009

poem

saddled elements

I found you thriving on the open air, sentiments were thereamong the distances from where we were the same insideand molded among experiences we too soon forgot themstanding there in the rains coping desire to become otherand then outer rooms to the whole plantation were not attheir ownership levels taut on the line of fire to be seen ashort time away was no sin but an allowance on the sandsof all and reason to become the start a searched materiala mile away from the nearest anything at all on the face of everything added up together into a newer one for all over

*


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July 28.2009

poem

beleaguered nations

slides across the rest resting arcs a plenty inside thisyour own penetration holding the hours open againIve slid into second on a ground rule double this airrubric allowance nor eastern plumes arriving dailycall your hair around my tendrils making doubt hereits a blue balloon spinning inside the magazine coverheld in place by new priorities clashing momentlybut schools the doubters from sullen attitudes dailyhold the angles around you like a sudden wasp hereat the end of time in these confusing showurs arching

*


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July 30.2009

text

Prose 2

Near the occurrence at the scenario, some matter proceeded themarks on the floor which had been laid out in advance of the writingitself. A forgotten sensation. Ensuing houses were not motivated nor didthey exist. All was pale and predictable and new, as if the time for fatefulallowances were passing unnoticed. Blue homes dotted the airplane withsome destination implied by the closeness of the detailsthemselves. Another scheme for strangers, another new rhythm to theheartbeat on the plains. This was not so much heard as imagined in theother times we spoke to each other in the dark. Plantains were broughtin for consultations, the light bloomed like a dark spot in the road. Herewas the other new like a fashion in disguise, no particular noise orsilence need be treated.

The score was settled evenly, as if it mattered. Other newerpartitions built up from the residues of plants were scrapped out and leftfor blind. Trust the animals to set up a family trust without rules;needless aches are flooding the market like your self in action but let outto pasture. Hold the hours daily, mark the repeated words with a redline in the same destiny as the comma and its relegated friends. You areno more than this or that, but clear the tonalities of their definitions fromthe answer sheet you hold in your hands like a tool or an old friend,, averand sing,, polestar and shuttle,, laser clouds in the bare evening skytooling around among the clutter of this chatter on the line. Ease to thedoubt or crush no peasants in your eyedropper this air subsumes allchatter and leaves the door open for more. Is it really that difficult? Notthis time, the open lines are crept aside and fathomed. Here comes thedog.

And so the inevitable ache in the gut widens into a riverfront and

calls the new time immanent or forgiven I dont remember which adverbwon out in the competition for a newer line to carry the day. Its notreally a matter of time or season but a calculation forever blue and greenand red-orange all at the same time you mentioned my name to anyoneelse. Score. Pull the rest of it forward or into the light, and themdiminish your other conclusions for knockwurst and salad tomatoesroasting in the reefer like another day for flowers and nouns. Id not had


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nor wished another resemblance on the light you left behind you in thequiet room. Another quiet room. Wheres the meat for this particularscanner? Nothing indicates why you did this or that or anything else. Idnot had nor season, another opener clings the tumor faithless heatingdispels all worries from manifestation or another mishandled accreditationin the musk like a melted doorway clean on its hinges from all doubtmight trap the time clear and resonant from whatever origins are notparticularly memorable. No matter here either, but a basement andmattress of borrowed lingo all smoothed over on the side of the road, anether reach. Here the story takes a turn for the better

Call me Isherwood, like another story. These empty grails arebush-laden and outer yet uninclined to heed the wave of your hand in myface. Neither welcome or not, but ashtrayed along the random hammersin your pocket like a toolbox and a foundling of the forgotten rays andplines among destiny at these newer signs left along the floor for othersto find. Its a thin day when you cull your wasps from the garden withlong hoes and rakes from the shed near the back fence. Nor appear tobe less. Its the line you call your own that takes repose at its ownorders from beware and palm of the long wine drinkard from the trails weall took together and found this from somewhere else.


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July 31.2009

text

Prose 3

They came and then they went into an inscrutable darkness,carrying me along the way and dropping everything onto the road wewere walking. Nowhere the same was how the day looked in on mewithout strangeness or pity, only an amalgam of colors was tied to thesacks and boxes which were the load itself smoothing into a flat surfacewhich was without doubt the heaviest surface in history. You were notalong with me and yet the winds blew like rockets against the knownuniverse in all its complexity. Never read before writing. Its a curse anda blessing to have a mind at all, especially when its cooked andsaddened by the names life give it for remembering whats where andwhos let in on the secret. Another mystery enlightened. Sad mountainsclaiming the sunset for a repose and a sign that another way has openedup for the spell checker on your left hand with nobody home in themorning to clear the way aside from all the well-wishers and mournersand assorted strangers who came for the food.

I was tired of the bliss, forgetting that I live in paradise withoutqualification or blame, still another crop on the wall, a site in the mind, aforgiveness on the layers of meaning which persist even in our dreamswe think we have arrived somewhere in the nature of perfection yet stillwe complain and wander. This is the hour when revelations are made tothe audience and claims are forgiven from the giant who runs the shop inhis blue coveralls and broken hands we mark the hours when we cameaboard and took respite in the blankness of the terror itself notremembering and calling forth into the dark for a blank fortress toemblazon the terms with their own means and fortunes. This is the

moment of which we have already spoken and nothing will change thelight in the room more quickly than doubt or prescience either way aforgetting and a claim. Nowhere else does this synchronicity exist but inthe heart of the matter where youd sorted it all out and left he residuesbeside the process itself in imitation of those who have left before us inthe night of our own positions on the floor of the great hall where thedebates take place and the righteous marks the time as their own and


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seem to have a title for the lines which are stretched across the floor andonto the porch where no one is hiding.

Rough textures, simulacrum of foreign substances aimed athallways, the latest ideas on the radio along with funeral services for thegreat and the unknown all at once, as if youd been here before we meton the way to somewhere, peeled among disbelief and then let to, let goin a suggestion of doubt itself giving way to love in the mists. This is thekind of song we labor to produce and cull the spinsters away from all elsebesides lunch on the floor without pity or debt. You have arrived at thesecret, mere attraction rules the interactions between us like a psychicmagnetism or a new form of advertising the world has never seen beforenow but which is a dog sleeping on the couch in the middle of the daywith nothing whatsoever to worry about, why dont I take the sameapproach to everything else in the midst of plenty to be grateful andforgiving? These similar attributes have contributed to the accuracy of the moment into its longing and satisfaction in the hours before us whichare beckoning and diminishing all at the same time you struck a deal withthe tramp on the road to pay his dues as well as your own lettuce andtomatoes on the plate to one side of the terminal where the beautifulladies are singing simple songs into the sunny sky and rooming the plaintalk without pity or remonstrance from this particular scenario wevehalted and made gigantic in our fervor for the gratitude we feel for beingalive at all when so much else comes into question.


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July 31.2009

two poems

circular staircase

you moved across my time like a friend , like a randomgeneral on the move into the sunscape and hesitancy of a lesser scheme than first imagined. another newer heirapparently forgot his lines as well and muttered into themicrophone silently picking his place in time for theseother realities too soon mentioned to become the flavorof forgotten crimes and other actions. this was the timewe laid up the sky colors into their constituent patternsand called love by another name again and again thesedoors opened out onto the platform for the arrivals here

*

dream channel

what you kept from me still a mystery any more anotherline into the infinite cleans your day and strives outwardwhere it comes through the form itself into a new gesturescorned upon the heavens with speed and energy enoughto mark the time your own to recover and stand forwardin the repose of the words themselves which discover anew line into the lighted skies with their own agenda nowand them you travel into smaller realms for doubt to grow

into its constituent realities forever grown a root and palmlike the song love sings in your heart when you transcend

*


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August 02.2009

text

Prose 4

Astir amid wooden signs on the wall, you strive upwards into thenoon music to attach yourself to the layer or flow of the invisible realmswhich stir inside to create unknown spaces at work on the destiny of yourchowder and bole on the floor of your own same and particle at work onthe hours which have left these doorways calm and particular at theiridentification within the one clarity which might reveal you to yoursemblance of these objects and plasmas crossing the street with yourhand in mine is not a loss nor any kind of gain on the species of theplanet but a healing motive inside your hours again the dead rise up tobecome air spirits in their indigo colors made plain by the weavers amongtheir tools to be a conversation on the couch inside the hotel or outsideamong the noise of the highway cars rushing past and into the futuredown the street as if they clung among their heavier climates are notbagged up nor even stretched out in the sun to dry with their contentweaving clouds and colors from all the charts you ever had to detail theseallocations into the warning arm and hand signals which would warn youof an incoming detail ready to spirit you away and into the bush wherethe giant trees have fallen down and remain like spoken words whichwould spring away and become these signs which are made of doubt andpressure.

Backspin, overboard, the movie, calling for the last time, yourown magnificence is holding still along the rows of commentary andrespite, tributary, laxity, the green mountains calling you out into their

own decay and wilderness just as we arrive there. Here the hours claimsyour inattention into a hypnotic memory of the person standing beforeyou spoke out into the darkness we all inhabit from whats left over at theend of the meal on your plate and rendering the residues into their ownsensorial clear transmissions have the air around you identified andtagged for the exhibition coming up in a few minutes heaving oversidethese localities are not mentioned but spoken signs on the flow of the


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music through my being at all attentive is your ticket to somewhere elsestrokes and fathoms overreaching the shore of faults which has elongatedthe reminiscent tones of music coming through the air and into theflux and inattention of the moment in your healing tones where the olderstories make you passage and calm.

Landscape of unintentional identities leaves you a stranger onthe planet realm or heaviness into the imaginary completion and text of the motives on the way somewhere inside the harbor the nine thousanddollar crane which makes the boat look even smaller being lifted into thebay and thats the story from the shoreline unfolding within your hours of practice which clean the day of its responsibility for accounts and willingtours from the dockside out over the tasks of loves destiny reachinginside your head heart lungs and feet marking the day your own take onthe emptiness which surrounds us in this or what you said to the nightwhere loves residues claim color and detail from an unknown substanceoozing onto the floor without pity or resonance but accurate to the line of sand stretching around the island where you crawled forth into the newsunlight which cleansed all in its documentation and storage. Marks havebeen made on the shirts in the laundry which identify them as differentalthough no to things are the same especially in loves cookstove pealsyour clocks and dressings from their identity as if youd made a consciouseffort to mediate the openings on the floor or the signs on the wall whichmark you as the target of loves aiming spoon which reflects the imageryof your signification and heart beats which are arriving momently andstrolling your airs.


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flux and inattention of the moment in your healing tones where the olderstories make you passage and calm.

Landscape of unintentional identities leaves you a stranger onthe planet realm or heaviness into the imaginary completion and text of the motives on the way somewhere inside the harbor the nine thousanddollar crane which makes the boat look even smaller being lifted into thebay and thats the story from the shoreline unfolding within your hours of practice which clean the day of its responsibility for accounts and willingtours from the dockside out over the tasks of loves destiny reachinginside your head heart lungs and feet marking the day your own take onthe emptiness which surrounds us in this or what you said to the nightwhere loves residues claim color and detail from an unknown substanceoozing onto the floor without pity or resonance but accurate to the line of sand stretching around the island where you crawled forth into the newsunlight which cleansed all in its documentation and storage. Marks havebeen made on the shirts in the laundry which identify them as differentalthough no to things are the same especially in loves cookstove pealsyour clocks and dressings from their identity as if youd made a consciouseffort to mediate the openings on the floor or the signs on the wall whichmark you as the target of loves aiming spoon which reflects the imageryof your signification and heart beats which are arriving momently andstrolling your airs.


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August 03.2009

text

Prose 5

Excess of this not called, named, not anything, as empty goesastar between you and what might follow one line at a time AS each wordis a narrative and together there are overtones and a resonance which isthe composition itself no longer a narrative of one word at a time but achaotic symphony of unexpected results and resonance which itself ismade up of chance overtones and cadences unrelieved by whomsoeverfollows the lines through their invisibility and newness into the realmwhere the personal experience captivates and restores beginnings andendings to the marginal spaces between one utterance however that isdefined and inasmuch as no overlap exists, not really possible but in thatspace between words you might say there occurs an end chaos andbeginning over and over and if it is true there is only one sentence oneutterance to be made in its manifest multiplicity then there is always anew at any given instance so that birth(s may occur repeatedly andcontinually not to belabor the point but to establish that behind the nakedpriorities of the intent to communicate there is the familiar lag timebetween intention and action which gives the message the character itcomes to have even in the midst of obfuscation and renewal there is yet asimilitude of the speaker and the listener even when they areinstantaneously one identical witness tempering and stratifying the veryorganization of life itself in its heart beats of synchronicity which vibratethe planet and its blood into the frenzy that it comes to have.

Concise is not. Thereupon mere elocution or wood rasping in thedark of the night or the bears footprints in the sand in front of the emptylot across the street this morning in the midst of such immediacy and

presence it is no wonder not much attention ages beyond its treasury incontemplation of the underground themes which are flowing toconnection and extension for the forms themselves to even come to existyet have any priorities of importance which are not entirely personal andsecret thereby forcing the underground current to seek expression in theguess work of the hummingbird which is completely directed because theenergy expended in the quest for the flower juice is in itself a vocabulary


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and a triumph seeking calmer ground for rest if there is such a thing forthe specific tonality of the seeker and the sought in their own drama andforgiveness the very structure of the unknown in its proximity to the restof what there is at all in the senses to portray or restore the actual to itsplace in history at least the history of the moment and as we say if thereis one song continuously uttered in its unity and praise so too is thereinterlineated between the actual and its empty calm and so too is therean incarnation of the word itself in what is among our distances as weclaim our own inattention for the remainder of the quest a stranger and awanderer on the road of chants and pressures itself a destination and arepose between moments where the energy required to fire the nextsalvo is accumulated and then released rat-a-tat-tat into the spacebetween words erasing the preceding and engendering what is to come inthe next prefiguring its own content which has no destination save in theaction of the viewer or experiencer and which remains unknown andinvisible how else can we prefigure or visualize the partitions inconsciousness which approach love in its manifestations and explorationsin the tribe of the mass, in the turn of the screw and the mass of the passwe are still in wonderment in calculation and in reflection at least in myown case and insofar as I am merely inscribing the inside of my braincasewith the luxury of forgotten symbols and reticent explorers who delineatethe planet with their play and therapeutic dreaming


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August 03.2009

poem

lurid details

you spoke marvels at center and dogma inside these partsof lines are swept apart and into your back pocket againstthe worlds opposites are set in particular accuracy into amoronic calculation of angle and reportage which is anotherleft leaning line on the center of everything as small detailssmother the larger scale of being which kept us apart in proc-ess another legion of anchors designs the newer doorwaysare swept aside in the hurry to believe whatever is given atthe lesser of all attributes into the appearance of meaning aline on the sand of loves destiny in the heart again you are

*


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August 04.2009

poem

cradle laden

the marker taken from elements on the shelf who were actuallyin rebellion against the particular place they found for themselveswas not final nor precise in the measure of what had preceded itinto this new room of air spirits and colors on the floor of the daybut held like a destiny on in a new time when you dont know whereyou are going but out beyond the hours on the floor calling hernames into the place around your light filled being was not a duenor a location on the floor to decide anything but what was meantto locate your alphabets along with loves ark on the dock againthese hours sing beginnings on the walls around your heart


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August 04.2009

text

Prose 7

Doldrums hesitancy your left finger unattached still has the rungof truth evading attention from the outer coil a manner in yoursafekeeping would clear the air of everything else but the remainder andcull the wasps from all drawers and hinges on the ring of doubt I calledyou out from the darker realms unattached to anyone else beside the

tower or next to the lake a formal entreaty is never wasp nor petrolclaiming attention from the layers into the room of tiles and rupees havetheir own agendas marking the tides against the wall of the room likemarks on an ancient wall left by the previous invaders in their hurry tomake the day better for their purposes you may have come into the roomsooner and then made some changes to the day which made it betterthan youd thought another scrim plastered on the halls of ivy fromwhence all blessings come maybe another relaxation is called by anyother name is still made simple in the context in which it operates butmade calm in the duration of the surroundings which are culled not

rasped into the new shapes we have forgiving all encroachment andpotential from their ultimate locale in the particular room we find laid outbefore us this way and that is never an empty promise as this readingallows the energy of the cosmos to lead through the unending sentencewith all varieties extended into the realm of doubt which is the moon inits arrival not specified or pushed out of place.

I seem to have let go of the aftermath rather than emphasizingits doubt for a central theme even though my inclination is toward theladder and not the pose itself but an intensity youd not seen before nowand then the hours claim your being for its own purposes which arethemselves another reaching dogma Id called out reached out a handand foot into the baby void in favor of something longer and shorter butnot without destiny and relapse into the mornings stillness holds youback in run on sentences like a daft or pulley clings to your heart like arelief and a doubter on the musk of your own intentions is still aformational pattern relieving itself of any pretension to meaning of purpose rather a channel for the engenderment of your own relapse and


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center marking time with your left hand is still preferred practiceelevating your familiar words into the specificity the come to have in thisparticular context of unspoken truth mixed with pure animal excrement isnot a crime but rather a purpose lingering on the tides youve left behindyou in the dark on the table which is not so much a purpose as a goal onthe tides of light forthcoming in expectancy and doubt which youvegarnered like a patent or an invented copyright on the very space youinhabit.

A tallish gray haired guy named gene put in the plug which isnow falling apart although no blame is offered from the polar on yourplacemat archived between senses from another newer calm particle andclaim are neither mentioned or positioned on the ring of fire we all inhabitamong sensate ions coming more easily than the moods which precedeand follow as you might imagine an earthquake a passion a newness and

calm bestrid astir in what claims your hours like some inner circle has thefluctuant repose like a center sender plus and minus on the ark of loveintending to complete the sentence from its intentional calm far into thefuture of its promises and whispered messages which are all meant tosoothe you out of your own particular doldrums offering itself intoseasons from a departure and an arrival all at the same time grantingwishes or polling arks and lovers into their constituent claims forattention on the husk of doubt which remains as times due and centralsign on the doorway into the other rooms are filled with light.


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August 05.2009

text

Prose 8

Scales the door across wooden lines youd crossed this placebefore the other silence not made or posted on the lights youve laid bareon the obfuscation of the hours in their own particular identity as if somecrossing occurred in the syntax of these terms weve made together inthe silence of the following hours are still magnificent terms for whatmade the doorway into its own definition of space prohibited fromlounging in the open hours are not magnified nor unknown on the hour of the day of the year you kept behind the mark youd set against the tidesas if these sentences remitted their own sensations on the husk of themoment you went aside and called out for help in the midst of plenty norany ark betrayed in its path from any deterrence or offal on the cling of modes through to their open season on light itself is manufactured fromwhole cloth in the distant terms weve calculated as if this second werean interruption of the next day you came ashore on the windy landsbeyond the seas as if some sentence were called like the day you camethrough and left the door willingly open or closed or whatever in the stillsensations of the moment was the identity of the sentence as you culledthese shores at fault from some destination u

Thomas Lowe Taylor - "...of shooting stars and brightness."

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Transcript of Thomas Lowe Taylor - "...of shooting stars and brightness."