Gloria (for Elizabeth Treadwell)

Gloria, go back to the beginning:
Gloria, in the woods, we're safe:
Gloria, who knows how to listen.



   The dream-glass breaks, black with tar, spit, and glitter

                                ash and grass drifting together

          a deer, a fox : : : the bee-buzz bird-saw

                                  drone and thrum


                       let it call you:        Gloria.
                             let it call you:          Home.

Bellum Letters Revisited

look at how young these people are

dancing makes us human

what happens there in the occult deserts

the dissonance

the matrix contains a beleaguered pop star (does she still want to do this?)

weapons |

commercial pop's infectious repetitions

like we've been here before

like we are all just trying to find a way to make it bearable

it's so hot. who lives here? who gets to live?

google anything you want. pretend it isn't there if we can't see it.

Meditation on Plastic

as if I could press myself into a piece of wax

as if it could retain us

we retain it

we make mention of detritus

we accumulate its bits

on top of everything: pianos

falling down, ruined

the place where her lips were

there were lip prints

a synthetic rope made into knots

unweaving itself -- unthreaded

six thousand petroleum snakes

just six thousand of millions

there are too many to count

I count myself among the ruined

I, ruiner --

to say it makes the shapes tremble

I have been busily writing/making poems, but they are on little scraps of paper all over the place. I will work on posting them here.

On an elevator / of human fingerprints / of the most delicate / fixity

"a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing"

"Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted."

Today, I'm thinking that I'll be making a poetic object or poem in response to a favorite line of poetry or poem for NaPoWriMo. I'm thinking of it as a sort of commonplace book/quilting project.

Also, the Poetry Booth debuts this Thursday, April 7th. If you are in the area, please come make a poem with us!

Things You Can Do with a Ghost

Go all the way

up the hill

to the tippy-

top. Hold your

glass hand

still. Pour ink

into all the

corners. Invent

the perfect

circle. Kiss

the friends you used

to know. Hold

your breath inside

the house. Sew

the door with

an answer. See

into the mirror

before you see

yourself. Change

a bone to a bowl

of milk. Leave

a note so the doctor

knows just where

to go, where to open.

C6/C7

Fairy Tale

In the window-dome, wheel-stripe

the circle, merry merry we all

fall down. Dusty wheel-spokes

spinning and your little dog too.

The ear is flat, the glass cold.

Rain drops there, flattening

themselves. The bone held

through the bars is skinny

like a long lens zooming out.

The details camouflage

the crooks, their fat tears

glitter like diamonds.

Test 10

More on Tests

at what point is it not behind but underneath? I am undeneath the tests. I've made my charts, arranged my instruments, but something else continues to duel or intercept. Also, I resent the screen. It is easier with yarn and cloth. You know what I mean.

The other night we saw a white-lined sphinx moth. Two of them. Yes, we had to look twice to determine that it was not a hummingbird. It looked human as well. The head appeared to be especially meaty and soft. I presume the outside of the moth is the hardest part. The exoskeleton. I am soft, but inside there is bone. This moth appeared to be soft inside and out. I felt its colors in my mouth

Test 9

Test 8

on why I am behind in the tests

one of the things that has suprised me is that the data collection is difficult. the learning curve is steep, and I most be focused and in possession of a sufficient amount of emotional energy if I want to ensure a certain level of accuracy or "truth." Although one of the things I'm finding is that truth or the feeling of truth is completely unreliable (of course, therefore more interesting, thus raising the stakes and producing an increased level of anxiety). It is difficult to be honest honest honest with each word, and it feels as though to scrutinize each thing, as though it were only a slip of paper held daintily in silver tongs, is sometimes so serious and profound that I want to cry and at other moments so absurd and ridiculous that I want to laugh. And so I try to record these feelings and impulses but perhaps it is like an x-ray of a magnet or guts -- the densities of these things fluctuate so.

test 7

test 6

test 5

test 4