what sound would surface near the sound
near the end of winter’s statement
the iced-over suns unmoved gulls
chase gulls for morsels of mussel
what sigh from that sharp air what would
we hear if I said no thanks to that junk
on the horizon if I could tell what
I hid so well do I wait for the cold
green mornings to split into petals the
color of what’s buried taking thoughts
I would have wasted but what would it sound
like opening my mouth the way I
want do I keep carving notes on sheets
of ice as herons hide their necks
Tag: thoughts
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Is it to quiet those sounds from above
that won’t leave me alone or to drown the
noise of the dog’s desperate licking where
does the source hide itself but such thoughts are
not really for me I get too excitedrest badly and when the excursion starts
I’d rather stay in bed but mostly I
want to write about something besides an
ugly bag mostly filled with water thoughit holds some moderate pleasure toothsome
despair and thick clotted rumination,
which may not be to everyone’s taste buthelps exercise the moist gray maze when
I would have had little else but sleep
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I want to tell it as honestly as I can. They were all masks. The indecipherable cartoons. The levitation. Phrases plucked from a radio in an abandoned car. Trying to appear simple to hide a different simplicity. New Ugaritic hymns on vintage clay. It all fed some demon that fed me unfortunate moods. Quasimodo as Beckett playing Don Quixote with a shard of glass in his or just K. Kat singing to the mittens the moment before the impact of love gee aren’t images grand?
Though immobilized by what those thoughts might and whether they could be liked loved subscribed to at midnight this pen becomes a pin when the free preview expires but I have groundhog burrows to inspect and potatoes to prepare, which brings me back to, and by which I hope to prove, once and for almost all, in the fullness of, and we’ll see how it goes. But soon the orange smear of our star glittering just slow enough out of this restless salt and then
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as I write with one foot
stuck in dark mud the otherunresponsive for reasons
I can’t discover lightsflicker throughout the day I’m
more full of fewer thoughts withair enough for me to ascend
the brilliant sharp mountainI have kept my pockets empty for
I have kept my back straight against throughyears of small work and I
see the check on its waybefore I’ve ordered it’s my fault
I should have gotten here as soon asthe neighbors finished dancing
on our ceiling and the skychanged to business casual blue so with
my knuckles sore I crack another nutbut what if one thought survives
somehow the pressure of spaceas the small stones crawl from the sea
wall after the grey is goneand we work into the overhyped
night sponsored by what you would ratherremember a castle visited
through a dream that always asks too much
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In the morning you can reach out and see on the breeze in the mind the damp stone tightening straps keep him in place the pain in his cell the confession conversion meaningless at this point or the life by the sea rough stone grey the children I pushed through and lined up in the earth and the cliffs so beautiful lonely one time one town on the frontier barely built I can still smell new cut wood that simple home sun creeping through seams in the wall another sunny place warm weather sweet breeze always fetching writing down his many thoughts the wine was good
other animals 