from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (24)

your cursive lariat
my thin
spokes

afternoon
delirious with
accidental white affection

primed to gore
the sheet
bloodless

until
everlasting happiness
exudes miraculous springlight

inferring balsa as
if motion
trills

willowesque
in passing
while air flows

chanting recent growth
to reassemble
happiness

contagious
as breathing
in the spores

from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (23)

she dusts
her home
she dusts
experience
she dusts
her life
she dusts
my life
I feel as if
my life is dusted off
the curtains do not interfere
with light from windows
she has windexed
all the glass
and laundered every curtain
and the light comes through
the light as though
a person had completely loved
the light
that very light
the shining daylight
of an afternoon
she has remarked upon
the glisten of the daylight
and the daylight
like a stronger moon
has transformed
how the rain seems
if rain comes
daylight is more loved
if daylight comes
and she has readied
every inch of home space
to admit the light
to mollify the rain
to heighten daylight
and to smooth the days
the house is clear
of all debris
of probability of dust
and breakage happening
she has taken every
precaution to prevent
the interference of
the light
the newly minted
flecks of daylight

yellow paint numeral poem 2

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RECUR

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remark

collature or the inability to communicate or the insistance of words as an expression of truth fixed and ascertainable links to measurement, the perception of time as representing solidity passive smoking T'is a cock in yer mouth
the

limit and

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n to evoke music or art

collature or the insistance of fear artists are neuroses t'is a cock in yer mouth

to be music

or

subculture or [[flick flick not subculture is the (un)heroic (un) romantic genius artist that is applicable accesable and created by non-artists too vague to be dada ]]kickkick passive alcoholism by proxy illicit and not dissimilar to snake poison TRACES NOMENCLATURE

art

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from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (22)

numerals
regardless of how many
don't make poems
unless folded
into words
dipped in yellow paint
perhaps

I count
what I have done
as much as what
I am after
the various
indulgences in
sight sound tenderness
ease along the eye
and the perfumed
touch

the past comes
around once
gone around
to fit
the saying
mayhaps
bluebells
needles of
the barrel cactus
hummingbirds

equate to particles
of matter
parts of speech
a jaundiced recollection
of now dormant
seeking via
tentacles

liberty transcends
thatch
poise traipses beyond
conceptual at least
boundaries
the life force tantalizes
impulses to sugar
what's occurred
seemingly freehand

the dosage pixilates
the numbers
varnishing shadows
apt to be
removed from
context in a tacit
spree

lines of images

as abstract as pottery you fint finding noffinj to say on the subject of fuk all incerst dada nor won't this is notessay something you'll find in poetry the elegant nottextual giraffe is boring for any"encirculating D"ber pretemp one E dated the y of the centurary other thaclatexpressn a textette re deeedeereteedu dada

extempor vous. musical chairs sense expression haute empiricist x regret aristotilian bargainin autre nous implycayter the vanishing high couture into text voices et paglioserge faux tempestua the greener the thoughts T-shirt dress and red head si'l vous plait pervavore mi till cha saki [backward step, if you please madame] crash coarse fast fist pliet riterando apres les chalet ecoute a t'il after modernism cultural expressionism the someone wishes to use the computer

Laced acidhoney revert to metaphore x10 bEHove the accent of dada travel leg scrapes to squat follow your fist turn and walk moonwalk do i need to be so lonely waiting for your earmail atleast one can do the chores while one waits for a reply: the theory of ghosts in the machine Bruuuuuuuuuut one cultivates taste to lose it spit out and crash car bacchus racing towards the journey seeking psychotherapy spirit self soul riddled into thing booze them fags mi duck

from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (21)

I walk all afternoon it is without you that I listen but all afternoon I think of you. I think of you all afteroon I'm walking and I'm listening. I think of you not incidentally but constantly I walk I listen and at the center of my life is you. The sunlight lifts from smithereens my broken self, for when I walk the walking is for you. The listening is you. The after care I offer to myself is just a substitute for you. I wish that I were real when I am listening. I wish that I were right with you. You do not walk you listen. And I walk as if the incense that would bring us close were there with or without you. I walk along the dark canal and sometimes others run or walk there, too. I walk with you in mind. I walk until I feel at home, then I go home to you. I listen to the light. I watch my shoes be scuffed by sand. I walk beside the water and I see the flicker of another person going by. I tell myself there's only you. I walk. I listen. I put miles on my dark shoes. I lift from earth to make the earth contain you with its atmosphere. I live for you. I hear no heart although I know that it is there in me. I walk for you.

dream