never learned the art of reaching out
but read a book or two and tried
to love a little world with what it could
and then could not not to be unclear
of course it’s just this hearse running
it’s ragged curse over the bones
and their children back in the mines
thanks to you know who who would
not move an inch for you though you
suck his filthy brim and beg for snacks
until the air runs out and new games start
so we must learn the fresh languages
fast or we won’t last a minute like that
time I could look nowhere else but down
Tag: book
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so hungry all day things falling out
of my shirt this cavern of a mouth
bitten raw again for what I want
to know now a game of second guess
ing that makes a tiny day night thenfollows me to the second bedroom
for a scratch I walk I try to read
maybe meditate a snack perchance
a book but nothing stills the thirst theburn of the sound of the chorus its
latest fine counterpoint while I pace
and hope for some end to this chokingmaybe soon some tuneful bird in
terrupts to tell me I have slept
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Here’s another section from Fragment…
and our time is up so please throw the book mark away and reabsorb the book the queue for rebriefing will be on your right and the airlock two doors down on the left and you may enter there if you have the proper stamp but no we haven’t always been so formal you know back when the place was run by the gazelles there were trees growing in all the courtyards and curious snakes and lemurs feasting on the various fruits that dropped all year round while we learned the vocabulary if not the grammar of the mighty river
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Fragment
The next book that I’ll be sharing with the world is called Fragment. It’s something I did for NaNoWriMo last year and have been trying to hammer into shape as a long prose poem.
Here’s the so-called advertisement that I’ve cooked up to give you a sense of the so-called book that I’m writing:
an ad for Fragment might say something like is it a travel diary dream drama recently re-earthed and translated into 500 englishish paragraphs of 100 words for a novel-related poem-adjacent self-portrait our hero of glues glues together with gold insomnia and a car alarm that produces unnameable small flowers of late early spring as it reforms itself with itself you may choose to avoid this hero’s journey of course you should refuse at least twice but in the crepuscular aching beneath the sofa who talks like this anyway or wherever you hear this please come inside it looks like cats
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Overpacked for the Afterlife
Hey everybody! I am very happy to announce a collection of my haiku has just been published. I hope you enjoy it!
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The Carrier of Ladders
Poems by W. S. MerwinDISCARD
Ferguson Library
Date DueJun – 3 1975
Jun 9 1976Nov 16 ’76
Jan 24 1977
Aug 15 1977
Feb 21 ’78Jan 11 1979
May 19 1979
Jun 13 1979
Nov 22 1980May 6 1981
Jun 22 1982
Dec 4 1982May 25 1983
May 28 1987
RENEWAL
Jun 17 1987RENEWAL
Jul 7 – 1987
Jul 28 1987
RENEWAL
Aug 17 1987
Nov 2 1989
Jun 11 1990
RENEWAL
Jul 2 1990RENEWAL
Jul 16 1990RENEWAL
Jul 30 1990
Sep 7 1990
Oct 11 1990Oct 31 1990
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waiting for the final
misstep I stay inside
air conditioner ping
tink heavy dark air I
make spear points for some self
I wish I could discard
that sinking twist in the
gut deprive the fall of
all color but the game
gives up and talks about
dreams of cooking techniques
sneaks under floorboards after
brandy and cigars in
an old book and then
we may taste something new
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dear friend, we’re it not for the tears held back—
but no, let me start again. After all, it is spring
and the half-clinging leather of newly uncoveredcorpses satisfies the flies. But that’s not it either.
Somewhere around here there is a small book from
the past that I’ve carried for years and never read.
other animals 