It's Good To Get Outside


An island of desert.

Than of the sonnets scrambled, resounding.

Describe a city that disappears.


What is held in its place?

Old noises – the dust and distance of

We-Keep-It-Under.


And the slingshot of my sight

visits from dusk horizon

to dawn horizon.


Sometimes hearing is faster.

Desert Day Trip


The afternoon light:

brightness bathes us in too much for the eyes.


There's always something we ought to be doing,

but not much impetus to do now.


Amble toward the hills.

Climb a boulder.

Listen.


Back by the road

a tarantula wasp

skitters on the hunt.


The only evidence of human industry:

a tangle of rebar and concrete,

a rusted flatbed.


Why does discarded machinery

seem so much like death,

when we speak of the "living rock"

equally silent?


You don't need to say.

I know.

A Trip to the Capitol


If you tried to visit all the representations in the pairs passed of days, you saw that I absolutely made a mess of things.


The mess looks like adjustments of the host, to be cleaned from above, and I think that I have things I put to the right, at least by the time that is.


The work resides in an account, or a combination of nobodies.


There plows also times - in the pairs passed of days – when to be able to coil through, in any direction, begs questions. Hear representations of days.


An account, a definitive combination, a representation of nobodies, constitutes musical comedy work.


The work resides in pairs passed of days.

     Sounds at Fuzz.com    Recent Images     Selected Words    Weblog    Give Me a Holler    CV     Gigs    

Teaching     Home