Thumbprint.

No one is quite sure how
To handle you;

From one unbrokered inheritance to another
My advice is that you remain
Liquid.

And disturb the peace.

Begin as water must,
--or must have.

Drench what is everywhere,
Then worry about us.

Hindsight.

Stay unhealthy and dislocated,
Young people under blankets.
Swim in bad water,
Drink bad water,
Test bad water on your skin.

Stay in bed, but come out of your former
Sleep.

Carry those pails rich and brimming with
Silver light and dancing windows.

When light,
Years from now, you will agree,
Was scarce
You simply fetched it.

The air of sophistication.

A bell boasts the tone it hides in its
barrel body--

The tone negates it;
Nothing we share can be either divided
Or kept.

طوپقپو سرايى

I know this is just a movie
As surely,
As half-awake I dream

Take away my flesh, hide your inheritance.
Deign to estimate the haves.

Keep her in your eyes and the only good jewelry is stolen
Jewelry.

Now I must end the instruction.
This is not a movie:

You will prosecuted.

This circle and no other.

The sweetly explosive rush
Of the ocean
Braced us

For plump clouds cornering,
Clotting.

Perhaps it is that the wary were forewarned. The
Infinite had managed purpose and
Found
Completion.

Clause in midair.

--is an outlawed caustic
--is adapting from what heir?

--i

The devil.

What dry corner of our damp wreck
bereft of cobwebs
Knows us

As opposed to the vacancy
That is our wealth?

The devil.

The devil's first talent lies in merriment,
What's to come will come--

Why portend doom?


His second is sartorial--
His adornments and learned grace.
That the two alarm us with similarity is lost
On the lot.

In representation and a burgundy flourish do we decide

What futures we have.

Frost roof, fire kitchen.

We no longer have the winter flu,

--we eat red hots,
Fan ourselves, see ourselves

In each other.

Meditation.

Small things embrace deliberation.

See the heart, extricated;
The veins, arrested.

Nothing flows.

Be small and enjoy that nothing has
A number.

Swell when the variable fills your
Belly.

Rambunctious.

Most likely
You won't go home happy.

Most likely, too,
You will
Derive you:
Packed,

Fat,

Sentient, for sure,

But fat nonetheless.

See them through the steamed duck gut window, strafed
By aromas and grease
From the shift.

See expectation, poise.

Not for nothing:

See the beginning.

The actor.

I am a tree fallen in a popular road:
Science says the bough grows weary with fussing.

Then again,
Science says there is a bough.

Indecency.

Do you like the moon--
The molten discount thing that I gave you?

Once we were lowly,
Silvered in grease and labor with gaping eyes,
Wanting eyes.

There where your moon marked a rippling
Detente

The causality of light streaked with poetic
Bravado.

Do you see the gift in it?
This time the world did not so much enclose upon the miracle,
The miracle cleaved to the soiled cleft.

The world was like a dog, it obeyed with profound thirst.

Illumination music.

To learn the bagpipes
Can take a veritable lifetime of fumblings.

One must struggle with the knuckles, the valves,
The hips marbling against
form and gravity.

An amorphous thing that sings and can be found lamenting in the staff of air--
Though study defies it it's not so uncommon.

What is--
Pried against definition
--and too, against form and gravity is the
Nervous laughter engendered
By a learning grasp.

To whom is it not the illumination music?

And to the player who struggles
How is he to know success from the clamor of
Worldly noise at hand?

The nightly feed.

Sometimes I fall in love with just the

Beginning

And it's as though I've been contracted to

see it through.

There goes your kid down the slide,

There, the election results--

--he won.

There, a minute clutter from a helicopter team or

Beneficence. Upon further review

Yes,

He was safe.

Work.

A sly word dissolves

Leaving water

--and a stain.

Don't blame the elements for

Things in dreams and

Rehearsals

You swore you would

Account for, appraise,

--and take with you.

Dawn.

Wonder is a solution;

Just kids--

Tell them and catch your breath

No wonder is like the wonder

With which their

Slings fill

And their vows charge

The sun.

Brevity.

Imagine the curse of time

Doubling,

Impregnating itself.

Think unholy thoughts of you and your parents,

Hieronymus Bosch and

Doris Lessing.

Now squeeze it, tighten it,

pull it stressfully over an over-

Taxed body.

Make not the form suffer the strategy

When it ought suffer better for

Magdalenianism.

Coat of arms.

One can only be so beautiful.

One can only be so much.

The crest is disposed to display certain feathers,

--promissory bricks of silver.

--fanning claims.

We are normal to endure the coast,

The limitless march of skies,

Perforated, and soldiering off.

We are encouraged by their stoic maintenance of

The elements.

Magnetism has a limit to what it provides;

It isn't magic after all.

You will continue to have no money.

Try to understand;

be immense in appreciation

but try please.

Not everything is about

Have.

There is of course

A curse.

And there is the loyalty of nature,

which is like proliferative money

and the thousands

No names.

-they would blush.

The birch.

No one understands the birch,

How it heals.

Just wait for the details to

Peel away in

Leaflets.

Try to remember a few expressions, the bend,

The shape of the leaves.

Kid lit.

I need not advertise nor flurry

:

Blood runs in iron showers

In the woods

Behind our house.

Bring your camera.

Bring a friend to help

You.

Gold mine.

There is only one kind of gold mine

the like that makes you rich--

Rich in fascination and

Rich in possibility.

If you need the characteristics--

Since a map is out of the question,

They are as follows:

Look for a sparkling ceiling--insofar as you can see anything,

An inchoate painting of the future in coals--not that you would know,

Feel for a temperature drop,

A lamp that fails to burn.

You will know when you stumble

thinking,

In ambitious misstep how

Possibility would come to you, then

Fascination.

The archway at Valley Forge.

The archway proposes a tricky relationship.

One sees first the imprisoned sky and

Only then the cause for

Celebration

It is marble, or flesh.

It was Colonial or

Grecian.

Read up.

Its history is a dwindling flintchip to the other's

Sea bellowing against the greatest things.

Of bourbon and new years.

For my parents.

Throw up your hat, dear.

The Earth is still

And all time spins from its spools

With a comic's measure.

Throw it to the drunkards' moon and their chandeliers

Up to that toppling view of Earth

And to what those brilliant Martians must

See, in their moment of recreation

That ours and theirs might coincide,

Give us a laugh.

Reach to the back of you,

Where my smallest hand was in some distant

Month

Acquainted first and now.

I am dizzy with the sweat and rags of words

The jazz and enamel ground, worn.

Reach back and throw your hat high now,

It is the Auld Lang Syne they play

Where winter flowers stand aright.

In the body the soul resides.

No virginity suits us

Any longer.

It is impractical to look for a measure of it.

What remains is a viable choice,

Thrashing against the pittance of what we

Believed in,

Called virginity.

Blossoms.

Everything I did in my baggage

I did twice

Once for you and bruised in contemplation

I also did for

Another.

And nothing is fair.

Do not be distracted, I spoke for and dreamed for

Another. my moongold, profit,

I hope you can forgive me. I hope on the fulcrum

Wall

You can appreciate the sum of this frivolous bearance.

Unacceptable loss.

If each and everyone is gone

Then there is nothing.

Blown-through fortunes

And forgotten cadences know us,

They will not tolerate losing us.

If each and everyone is gone

Then there is nothing,

bruised, guttered, full

Feeling every bit

With not a finger to touch it.

If each and everyone is gone

Then there is nothing.

The natural order.

The world is gently falling into place:

We can thank this plunge

For the capital heat,

The spinning oceans

Busy and volcanic.

I can see the untamed system bursting

Into perfection

Where harbors grow

Where what is bereft of the savage mark

Would have been so even in a state of Peace.

We are bloodstained; we did it right.

Mountains.

With mountains behind me

And a pretty school--

Pretty by today's means,

Ahead

I got my hands on a copy of

The Divine Comedy,

Only to be overwhelmed by the degrees of

Shame

--the degrees of documentation.

Winter rain.

The patient bend

And are the benefactors of Patience.

Love is prehistorical and

All horror is born of impulse.

The patient bend--

Not in error.

This vibrant winter rain--

to get away--

To wait.

On a brim of rain.

One went looking for a marshal

On a brim of rain--

Lost levees

And swingsets below.

No destitution earns its

Destitute,

Though when the waters recede

To the destitute it all lies.

The edges of certain things.

The edges of certain things

Are serrated,

Eager to pull a

Fleeing sleeve,

A blown lock of hair.

The advantage, despite obvious dangers,

Lies in the possibility that

We might use them to finally catch...

The edges of others

Are undisturbed and smooth,

capable of grasping very little--

If anything at all.

But all possibility

By compass

Flees in that swift direction.

Idiom.

The room was boasting its humane noise:

What went said will be familiar

In the morning

If less distinct.

What went unsaid, on the other hand,

Must wait, packed in,

Unmated, unresponded

But prepared.

So then

All determination is born in the one's forgetting,

And all surprise poetic in the other's.

Idiot.

What a troubled mind needs--

Him, take him for example, look,

What he needs--it

Would fulfill him.

And to fulfill him would make him lazy. So

Give only what he chooses--

Give him all the grapes he can swallow,

Keys to a nice house,

And a dog.

Announce him, clear a path,

Bathe him.

When his dream sours take his shoulder

Wake him up.

Do everything

As he needs nothing

And has been sated on something similar to less.

Conjoined stairwells.

For Jina Valentine.

Expect a temperature drop
Before a first step is taken.

Just by hovering
Accepting what you see when
Looking over

Down both--

Have a shovel ready. Scrape. Salt
Rub your extremities, one frost against the other.

In the distant pattern,
Either night or convergence
Has made of a single view
Something physically impossible.

The vestiges of support.

For Jack Rose.

The sisters of mercy and Veedon Fleece
Were imaginary

And I have not flown a kite in years.

Seems impractical to not unite
The vestiges of support
Such as these,
Such as we need,
Suspect,

Such as we act upon--
As if their vigilance
Occurred first in the thrushing heart,
Then a moving hand
An invention hushing and
unmistakable in its home,

Midair

And then--
Only then,
Third,

In the infinite where once the suspicion of creation drew breath,
And we acted upon.

A brief note:

A while ago you may remember a briefly posted item regarding hiatus. I took a few days off and felt oddly compelled to make news of it. If I had to guess I'd say it had more to do with the dip in a seasonal glut of writings as opposed to any functional want for vacation. Anyway it didn't last.

Well today I announce similar news, if for an entirely new reason. In the past month I have resumed activity under the name, To Stink, To Cheat, To Torture, a platform primarily reserved for prose and essayage. While I assure you the notebooks are filling up at blurry-edged speeds my ability to, as the old proverb goes, walk and chew gum at the same time, is remedial at best. Rather than coughing up some formulaic ten line shitters just for the sake of keeping to date I've decided to pace myself a bit.

Do enjoy the distraction.

Carrying.

This is for whatever it grows,
Here in my palm--

For stems, and schwag seeds
Stub-handed cacti--
Their saltwater--
And stubble-skinned canard
Spreaders.

Here in my possession,
Somewhat scarred,
Here.

Is it so strange to want a handful of
Something bruising with generosity--

Something the hand must not have
So much as it must endure?

To the east.

The whistle blows
And the chapped union between hand
And hammer
Parts.

Silence is born with the auspices of a baby,
With as much clubbed blood.