"The typist lived in a kind of limbo, hovering between heaven & hell." C.L, The Hour of the Star
tiny brimfilled winejar
just colors to design us in
someone's exploding
across the lake
catastrophe bangs echo
are we in a rough neighborhood
I feel like a tough place, sometimes
on the lake in a dark wet breeze,
Do you think we do things on purpose that are harder & worse for us?
it's raining on me, on my books
my winejar has turned into a kalimotxo jar
it's raining around that good lighter
and on The Hour of the Star
and on The Blue Notebooks
Forest Honor Bali
at the cabin we wear our
cut off cardigan sleeves
as legwarmers
over our jeans
they end up looking like
festival wear
burning the forest down
with all the lights & smoke & vibrations
I have smoke face
mouth, ears, nostrils all smoke
smoke in my eyes
do clouds get thinner when they rain?
is it just
I L L U Z H U N N N N
trying to be a poet in the rain
trying to use a notebook in the forest?
Climb a boulder
Drop a laptop in a lake
attend poets diversity college
and get one for free
if you graduate