<no title> (2/24/13)

The cardigans! More on those sweaters... wait... what is that... it's like a sweater, but it's cut down the middle, or yours has holes now, and the scent is strong like me, and like old man

one nightstand

one object cannot flank another object
one beard is not the world's beard
a bed on the floor doesn't allow for a tall table
  but a wooden box on which
to set earlymorning unmentionables
  or to obscure little desire-machines
  don't check my motor
  can I check my pockets?
give me your square teeth
  should I say hi to you?
sure, do it
  no no, nevermind
    don't say anything.
a bandana person
  save your scent to share
    get your neckblanket on me
to guzzle
   you through a nose & open drink mouth
I am pretending to smoke a cigarette
in the alleyway, back to the sun
  bc I want to think abt being naked, if you can imagine
  and the tight holds
handles of bones
  a spotted concave chest
    a long torso
      a maybe ugly
    a darling as darling as darling
instead of wandering, breaking everything
  shattering itall
    sparkle cuts allovertheplace
who needs furniture? we ask
  new orleans is on my to do, you said
  a given name? what give you me?
I'm really glad, you said
  we met
stay sweet, I said
  stay sweet, we said, and did
    I'll bet
from our low cushions
  and nightstands

ant, the velvet words

It was just the words come in me, those to make seen the real simple of a night. The common scent of flowers on the night breeze of a week-end, the ones smelling like butter or honey. Different bee breeds hover from these flowers & in again at daytime. The crickets, common sound of august, or maybe in oregon frogsounds are commonest. I'd like a test to differentiate. a frog whisper in one ear and the rustle of cricket wing violined against cricket wing; stridulating forgets the hot of a night. Spiders in stridulation, the velvet ant...

who did she do she

I'm night and day; I think in sounds and sniffs of the serenest cedar, of sweetgrass curls fondling the upsidedown memory breeze. This is morning afternoon now, like night awhile back and me, we just needed to unwind. Unwind around each other then, in the afterwork of uncertain surprise... suspicious sure pies.

I have the legs of a maple-sugared mile, I have the smile of a dove gone black in a newmoon fly-away. But that doesn't stop me from sitting all still all smothered to relax here and just feel like, coat or no coat, the change-purse accounting, my finders dried a counting. I want to court you, but will you let me softly rub you down?

I like this tune, it sings some back room memory like from the wood word of remembers. i like this beer, it tastes expensive. i like this, all of these letters, and I like it specially your recalling the rivers and the decades gone away, like I'm never a part of. Never apart from. and how many?

Slender is the night; stands sideways, blows away. I can see right through it. The music trusts me enough to let me injest it, breathe it. The smells of all the cedars sweetgrasses & sages I crave, and do have! captured in my won rural city! my own rural metropolis. The irony I call like buying the perfect scent. can you believe I fall for it

which is why I can suggest my own paying out of pocket, and pocket-less, it's relating. All the nights and days.

oregon

I am a bit, a lot. I am often, and it an obvious lightsource. This is somewhere before never been, at least records of, nonexistent. In a lush green, in an overcast still lit somehow. I remember many things before, and februaries before this. Because all of this. A chirp, a subtle stare from a dog on the floor. The run of water makes the bird cry. Dressed blue in tiny feathers. Just the little bell tinkle too as it quakes cage encased.

A sweet heart next, bodies warm in proximity. A twelve green stairway, slopes and peelings from ages gone. Bygone, gone by, the scent of a strong tea in me, the feeling of many, a breath through the nostrils and in the throat the right of which is sour, sore. Pour a rightside hot down with liquid to burn & scrape making soft clean health around. Health abound. Many little rosemary fronds for my forward, I know it.

o cry out, a suns!

Los suns multiples. The arrogant whitewash and the shadow trying for harsh. But a soft trickle through a tree. Outside there, and across, though the cars go by so to see it I still a park, a lot, and many too. The greens of the lawn and all the things to take with, the scent, the steady rush hush purr of sizzle stove things like onion to like and garlic to push into oil, make a stir up a sense.

Oily branches dipped to sky, little arms little ripples little brown wove to a softer antiquated blue. of a powder blue, of a sky not to become paired to! Nothing be compare. just the two the boths and the forever seconds twined like of brown thick. The park sits still, the windows still, the cat on fence, still, and through one opened up to me. To us appear, to us, a pair. To a rightly paired pairadice. A little us stand captivated, the chop of hunger smell through to deeply make smiles forth.

for the ones I didn't forget them

& never will! Luckily I've tightened myself into a spot here, so no matter what happens I can't forget all the everythings. I've ever done, and in particular the everyones. Is to say I kept a record of every second of my life (in offs, and ons of course, for whoever is truly there always & all at once??) So celebrate yourselves. Prettily I try to justify you. 

for #17

perfect examples

coincidence left obsessed,

kiss abyss wanton.

for #10

scent of wind behind

your woolen collar whispered

ignominies in me

for #21

past tenses   again,

fortunately remembered

left to sit dumbly

I can't, for the life of me, contain such elements as are throttling around rasping for grips of air and wanting solace in their solitary existences- all within my little tunnelroom of a brain, so how can I placate them? Am I expected to. I don't even want to know the answer to this question!

words I hate:

silly

belly

grownup

bum

remainders

The mirror has fallen to break so many more times since the initial crash, undoubtedly that occasion leading to its abandonment curbside as trash for my finding. The mirror has fallen so many times, but this last at an attempt desperate by K to leave my crowded bedroom. She left mostly a crescent of glass in her wake; I approve consistently.

An icecream cake, cookies and cream and yellowgreen flowers. A birthday cake for Ch. A red dress, one with tulips maybe, forest green, taco chile sticks of smoke. That old coconut scent everywhere, probably just a reminder of the future, the next weeks during which peregrenations occur.

a distressless little creature beneath it all. a dreamless little one!

Yes, this mirror story is not me analogizing, for example, a tale of the innards in rhetoric and flavorless poetries. Just a decent little remainder of a night spent. And then yes, I too should pick up those busted shards sitting like shiny mountains resting against the walls. By the door, so always underfoot nearly. To be laconic, that is for certain...

I love a laugh a punch in a bowl called icecream cold brings.