Dacning On One Foot
Tales Of Rumi
Sangam
Nataraj
Guman
Tender Warriors
Hymn To The Mother
Lady In The Harbor
Little Peace

Created with Paul's flickrSLiDR.

Good to have a memory of silk,
memory of the glance, serene

and troubled all at once,
memory of the moth,

ghost moth or dog moth
flying upside down

between the possible and the what if,
the pulse and the confusion of limbs.

The dark/of vast machines always alert

The vast system of generation, transmission/a single machine/tightly synchronized/the interconnects are joined

When the light walks, clockwise, counterclockwise/atoms memorize

In early childhood, atoms cannot be seen. Not mechanically interlocked. Not in collision. On billboards. Then impulse seems to attach itself

information-related conflict/disrupt, damage modify

A consensual hallucination experienced…by billions…in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts...”

To broadcast silence

Space relief underneath, the slanted opaque illusionary planes on metals stands. On glass. Two round objects seen from the side, urn-like, from above, sphincter-like, pebbled

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass

I say it is a picture of a thing it is not a picture not a thing it is not a picture of a thing.

There, pages of glass.

Our beauty under glass is your reality, unreachable/sliding our gift to you…

One could kick the glass out, no?/No. /Pass Through.

the magic position

shifting strands

Screens in a dream,
grey blinds,
robots toying with a tree’s model,
images of images

I’m thinking of this huge screen fluttering with smeared darks and obscene pastels, but I can feel it on my skin: the scratching seams of plastic, the coniferous movement of air, the lustrous flesh of animals.

undersides of overpasses

where multi-path distortion is an issue

you get what you put
no, that’s too active, rather flat water
river reflection, presences of the reaction

Nothing was visible, nor could be visible, to us except Straight Lines

The visible masking the visible, blowing words
as if glass

All clear and transparent words appear to be beautiful sounds

Complex boolean sentence as a tree

Diverted Travels

machinery

nutating

sink

columns

deep

in patches

ondular

downslope

rivers

climb

inside

and on

the drive

falling

Monica Zetterlund/Bill Evans "Waltz for Debby"

In his song there were hopeless cords: a distant sound of blind women (barefoot mothers in the transparent prison of salt).

It sounded of death and dew; later, he played on black pipes; he became the singer of wounds. His memory burned in the country of wind, in the whiteness of abandoned sanitariums.

Out Front

we speak

strenght and sanity

quiet please

moods in free time

man of words

hazy blues

a new day

Autonomous Light Air Vessels

To Ornette - Hybrid Identity

Historically, my visions lean toward the tactile

-Adam Clay, "[Bent Towards The Lights, The Miserable Water]", horse less review, #4

The meaning of objects in
the desert is great
but here, where everything
is grown-over
with human clusters
nothing is clear
everything is shifting,
constructed
& merely apparent.

-Tom Clark, "South Coast Epistemology," Paradise Resisted: Selected Poems 1978-1984

It's vacillation that pleases.

-Rae Armantrout, from "Single Most," Veil: New and Selected Poems

my name is Herman Bluewinkle

the most innocently Oedipal rhyming couplet in pop history...

"She's got electrifying loving
that's as warm as my mother's oven."

Before flarf, there was Bareback Donkey Riding:

I hang around in zoos.
I get withdrawal blues.
I like to go on donkey rides
and make the headline news

But we no longer live in a world of the Mainstream and the Counterculture. We live in a world of multiple mainstreams and countless counter-, sub- and counter-sub-cultures.

Had we known we were lambs
On the way to the slaughterhouse
We'd weep
In this floating world

- Yang Jian (trans. Wang Ping & Alex Lemon), from "Winter," New American Writing 24

the wolf howled at the flock

"it's hot as hell, this weather!"

all the sheep

took off their coats

-Yao Feng (trans. Christopher Kelen, from "The Wolf's Coming," New American Writing 24

George and I are met upon a klieg-lit plain

and I have on my Little Bo Peep costume
while George leans on his shepherd's crook

and lambs as soft as heaps of sugar-dust
as light as new spring snow

are romping in the heavenly bright
till all I know

all that I ever need to know
is herding lambs with George Costanza.

-Rachel Loden, from "My Night with George Costanza," New American Writing #24

grinding thousands of old tires into crumbs

Naima Live 1965

Let no darkness fall. On the space of missing memory. Hard is it. To fill with lemons. With children too. Just air.



And afterward as in a kind a nightmare. Desires are gathered together unto one place. And a city appears.

- Rosmarie Waldrop, Blindsight

Constellating
Languor
Accord
Televiewer
Scrawl
Mockingbird
Negatives
Lovescars

-The Clarinets

Electric bulb. How the words are. Suspended around you. And. Bones in the body.

- Rosmarie Waldrop, Blindsight