on another planet.

March 30, 2013 § 2 Comments

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journey.

March 23, 2013 § 4 Comments

utopia: come back through the tunnel and arrive

when the night is backing from parked cars

noisy-le-grand.

seldom come they singing without mouths

moving in time to the stars and the last

sentenced to upheaving cobbles; fall ye.

Utrechtenaar give me a way to say ‘buried’ without the end

leave it to the mythmaker, Sabba, go now

to white women dancing away the nightflies in an anaemic haze

leave it to the halfway in translation

and behold, our roots are

grounding. the roots are grounding.

XI.

March 16, 2013 § Leave a comment

a few notes not the whole bar

one can’t remember the other

 

for the world will inherit the back of my hand

and the moon will lay down and play dead

in the sand, at the wide, wide

side of the earth

where it’s known one can fly, one can fall

as one likes; such is the freedom of will

and the burden of being

 

contained, like a seed in the mouth of the earth

or a man in a bar, in a bar, bowing darkly to easy amnesia

and such

 

is the freedom, containing

the birth

April.

March 12, 2013 § Leave a comment

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art as politic.

March 10, 2013 § 1 Comment

Write about what you know, not what you know too well.

The sun, as radiation.

Prose is the song of the historian.

Write about what you know, not what you can learn.

Feet, waiting on tiles of light outside

the house like an ark.

Write with your heart open and your eyes closed. Write with your dream hanging and your life poised. Write with your knowing becoming, and your becoming, unkown. Write with your feet free and your house on fire, with your past present and your present. Unpresentable.

Write about what moves you, not what keeps you still.

Write about what you know, not what you know too well.

 

la mia casa nuova:

March 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

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Where Am I?

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