I am each age: I am starving & some strength & I am well- willed & the dust of lions- I am indigenous you are worldchangers & I have a white patch & I have liquid feet & trouble I don’t feel good anymore Once I don’t feel good anymore. Again I have trouble. Fit yoursel f into real land & you’ll feel how There is dust there are flies & instead there is wood everywhere.

paternia

The dabbling fish typically nest in tidal nowhere locations/deep in creased mud; I find two natural friends in the way to the sea. The city that slowly leaves and glows through the hills is thinking hard/cannot attract the kinds of friends I have. There are two of us wrangling through switchgrass. Words of home are like bright thoughtful birds amongst sheets of sky when in the dark nest; where am I & is that place the most empty/it is packed with two brains thinking. A spark is a child/do I make a completely new thought just by blinking/we keep rings around our eyes. We make a hurt smile with two people in it. The city cannot think & has not sit since it woke up. I felt its wires when digging in damp earth; I met earth with damp hands & reached until shoulder for new fish. I lost my friends in damp grass & with hands covered in scales. There is always a humming.

settled catch/downpour

There are five points of acting they include
long sitting & being quietly changed as noisy phases are let
in past your sunny eyebeams & your nose is like a river rock; all wet & seen as set-in or settled
while water like trickling piano notes passes & seems by; you'll never
empty a container so fully that's ever been full. America:
be kind to your pastures. Even as most men are
a man with a nose-ache running ret-hat and faster as a creeping thought won't leave them. Most ask what's the risk of saying to yourself:
OK, you're all caught up anyway. Daisy lily a clean conscience I wiped up yesterday by only saying so. In end: half stool folding small.
Now we know that lack of music is not the root of the problem; people need access to exercise to remain embodied in the mind by their forefathers. That is why we work at the root, spinal, and forefinger level to establish meaningful chords in the richness of causal perception. Sense must occur because it's happened to me and a rainy day is thick with blankets. That is why we must confront Global North with atrocity & tragic sickness. The dust we've left under the bed is an entire human.

accepting the globe; taps after taps

during a morning departure, collecting snails

I was impressing spoons; one spoon, one fresh dig. It took me one hour to make one spoon. Today is the big day. The lake stood perfect; still for moving. Everything had a place for itself. Best sleep I've had in a long time. I chipped two notches away and in two minutes had two new birds to speak to and to eat with. With every swing of the clock-hand my new friends twitched their bird-heads to eat and make even pace with the dawning clouds. Cover rained down in the early evening; long after I'd forgotten my place among the shifting seasons. Each droplet of sky tapped down on my forehead and I met it gratefully with a tap on the wood-block with my spoon. Every two swings of the minute hand met with two friends and two pecks eaten two even sweeps of cloud and fresh food served at the miming plaque of the wood-block. The clouds closed up at nightfall when as the day died my two friends closed their eyes above their keratin beaks and slowed down their breathing. I stayed awake to mark the silence.

after mistaking a hooded deck for an antler tree;

As a daily patron of the arts i see myself viscerally disposed as an open filter to the mad flailings of the outer sphere of emotional tumult and direction. I am similar to an ad: people see a vacuous and empty smile, hear an open and vague and slightly intriguing question and decide that i am a shell. I make money and am a shell. I gain money to contain it. I eat food to contain it. I am drinking milk to contain it. I am avoiding the bar to contain it less. I do not wish to repeat earlier patterns. I'll be gone for half an hour. I'll be gone for two hours. I'll be gone for people more important. I'll be gone for the faces i've missed. I'll be gone to see faces other than yours. I'll be gone to drop you alone and sad while hoping things will be fine and of course they aren't. The childish wish that they could is empty, vacuous, an open and vague and slightly intriguing possibility and it is decided that i am a shell. I am cheese on sauce on bread on hope on skidding barely by on promises. It is not contested that those promises are important to have been made: must have had to have been made. Must have had. The loss of their performance, the collapse of the proposed arrangement is incidental and the collapse is entirely unaccompanied by response or a "heads-up." Heads, then, when returning home, remain down. Stay down. Put mine down. Books that have been read on. Feelings that have been anticipated. The stoking puts them away, but they return as if strengthened by a sort of fueling wind. It is alright and not alright; it is said not to be alright. It may easily not. It may not be easy: fueling wind. It may not be wind, but the thoughtless defense expunged loudly by a drunk and stupid desire. A shell that contains, drunk, desire. Alone, alone. Those two who so wish not to be alone, made alone, by each other. Perhaps by the shouting and unapologetic one. Perhaps it is the root of evil or perhaps the childish misunderstanding of the vacuous shell thinks it is deserved. Is this why men have invented Satan? A name to the shell-filler, the desire? The so simple desire, not to perform uninterrupted action, but to account for it, to make it seem as if desired. To make that desire universal. To impose the subjective on those who can only see the emptiness, not the hollow hallucinagen; the filling; the empty; the creme; the tart. The tart of tomorrow. I'm a big boy so i have to have more. I do more so i have to fill more. I'm leaking and constantly becoming more empty. I am three pages and following this expulsion will become three pages more empty. Where did the three pages come from? Who will have me a cigarette? Who will have me a beer? Who will decide that it is not OK; perhaps i know the one. The impish, impulsive I NEED I NEED I NEED is so quiet a voice yet so persistant as to reminisce of the dark one i love to forget and remember of. Perhaps i lost lessons learning her ways. Perhaps i learned desperately necessary facts and that is why i continue to pour myself, unrivaled, into others hearts empty yet forever wishing to pour, to pour what? To pour what is undoubtedly a wrecked self, a mishap created by the misshapen pours of a thousand reckless and amateur artisans attempting to create a wax sclupture. When it dried the peices are unarranged like fake letters pressed together into non-words, represented as reality and challenged constantly. Yet heated by an inside furnace which runs simply on the knowledge of its own disfigurement. I heat it up to rearrange, to pour it out and become empty, into others so that they may, in turn, re pour it angrily into my heart which, fit to shapes, re-uglies them. Perhaps the continuous pouring and recieving changes slightly the walls of those ugly shapes as the exchange is repeated. Perhaps over time, through the measured performance and repetition of pours, those walls will soften and allow simplicity, so cautious and contagious in the conscious realm of the rest of my life, to enter the way in which i know love. The way in which i share my very self. Perhaps.

All is not final

I thought the eye was the everyman

War death self goes on the poet hero

Stop, let's talk for a while

Get up, let's walk

It is epic, is lists, is too much & past structure

This is the function of the poet through this.

Again we have this catalog

All over well it wasn't unstructured I

Believe in my soul. That he can be here

A wide wash seems prophetic & sees

& is helping you to see

Even with the women. How to articulate American

How to articulate all very & city & farm

& was explicit. This kind of sexuality is through

Structure which is valid. It can be valid & is

All over. Opium eater prostitute president.