Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Compositional History

Today we find ourselves in a very novelistic world.
As in foot note (1)

What do you have to think the poem is
indicates the source

anything beyond that
you find there is a lot better poetry

decourous certainly
double removed

it is in the letters these figures
write to each other.


1. No one is left behind on earth


Sunday, August 16, 2009

Notes From Narragansett



The painter worked into evening
and ended up creating night.

"You see the moon is shinning on the ocean,
and a woman is carrying in the laundry
over her tumbled arms."

It began to rain on the ocean.
I said, I see nothing
but nothing I said
said to him there
was no ocean, no woman, no laundry, no moon.

World as Voyeur

waves slapping like jello
vanished noises
swinging our naked arms
like the dead
laid down on their pillars
living at the back of the orchard
and called and sent home
and bled
a cadence behind the eyes
voices like bombed out homes
reading the train schedules
reading the hotel menu
reading Ulysses for the first time
at 36. Life happens
in a few fine years
and nothing but doing it all
over again will suffice.
I'm wondering when the river
its course, is a bad thing
when it changes
and the fish all die out
or a good reason.
I practice being still.
I practice
and practice.
I think the poem has changed.
Even though I didn't want to show you that.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Poem Without Revisions

He issued the definition
like a hand coming out of the sunlight,
like the universe was suppose to fill up.
He said, "There is more importance
leaving the white carnations of our world."
There was a parade turning down our street.
There were trucks and very shiny automobiles.
There were people throwing candy.
For a moment I felt that I might be coming home
to my dear wife.
And I hoped for a long time.
The summer was almost over in the tomatoes.
There was only one window in which the swallows could leave.
We walked to the field where no horse was.
I could not sing.
I could not say anything.

All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon on your young sandy face the weight of the stars the body tasting like snow a slipcover of communic...