Last August

Aug 3

The blank white wall
The laugh
out of the stark
dark.
Dayflowers run over
plucked dumb

Drip, engine
The nightlion
pisses
& circles meaningless
lee behind you

Aug 5

What’s like a beer bottle in bed
a commuting balloon
st. aspberry
born into a good night
at bow height
drawing air
& its outlines
missing you


Aug 12

From yellow day to purple night
To step without tripping
Over a tree
Other people’s gardens tremble under my eyes
inlay
of hot earth stinkers
in red pajamas making toast
& tea
she cuts celery
cellary swish in the bushes
the soft heart of a leaf
sits undisturbed for a whole minute
.
True, if we get the grants we could eat out every night
but what would we do with the rest of our knives?
whitless whittle
“into the night” — sidestepped oblivious
with guilt & concupiscence
spilt
.
trying hard to finish the milk
from hogtown to motown to chitown
ill o noise
mowtoon mootown pooptown

*
white shirt candidly hung
unstained
his holiness needs more fun
even fatalism coiled in his loins
would be almost divine — almost a bastion —
compared with how he flops now
a spineless fish
a boned herring
.
don’t stand up diogenes

19 Aug (Chicago)

the sound of a plane is actually a train
or roar of an air-conditioner
the megalomnia
of smouldering muses after the fire
heartbursts in the heat of squatters-on
& the drone of infection spreads
store to store
*
the fan hisses
the ankle cracks
the not-wife sleeps in a bed
in the room i’m not willing to confront
its fan louder than a baseball
size of hard apples
but plumes here are proper
as a pine-cone aspergillium
in the hand of an Assyrian
fondling the lotus
bare feet & fetlocks
treble-horned and basso divine
pierced the daisy crown
trod the daisies down
curled in the genius wings
sprinkling water around them
(i will also not confront the lunar symbolism)
whose bed to sleep in —
The couch sticks & sags
better here than the car
your bed’s made
and we’ll know this too one day.

*
sin of heat-sloth
crawling up buildings
accident a
cylinder sealed
a contest between
thing and one
and one and thing
cousin reality of sleep
figs & mentalists
a cocked hat
becomes a nest of ravens
rookery or crookery
fits of indolent men
become steel-spined mandolins

*

each day
ride the El
shades behind shades
friend or fow
get off downtown
ah walk around
whereyougo i follow
.
a bovine beast
reek of inhibition
seared and shared
among he priests
the farecard tracks their portions
Baby - lone
Been gone so long
feels like nuts to me


Aug 28

The secret diminutive is written in the bush
It makes everything small
The searchlight’s reach
The wind through the leaves’ black masses
The sobriety of daylight society
The security of the well-fed and well-loved

Seen from a balcony or a train
it pushes you in, or on,
as your pulse pulls you along

Down in it
the muzzle romps


Aug 30 (Weather Bell)

blank rushing day then
szvedanya!
chestnut shell
drops soft pricks
lavish nakedness
hovers above the top shelf
the ceiling fan’s second self

spins a free generation
little hands’ll
grab everything
on a small screen clicks
savage makeup
mocks the particoloured self
to show the piece on Sunday

or else bend
to a rhythm hovering in the wind
love a frangipani migraine pill
disturbed a bit the sick
animal still lives
hairless, unmarried, itself
canonized together with an anniversary


Aug 31

daylight burnishes the switch a redundant yellow
you’re here then flicked out of bed & we disappear a while
back with cicadas a quivering spine
itches around the emparked slouch
of a universe buzzing & stinging around us
rather, me, you’re somewhere else already
in the garbage glut; turn the key & strum
goodbye to someone & then they reappear
as a hum here. lowered in on a crane?
wisecracked open from an errant-squeezed brain?
She enters the fovea with luggage
forever a narrow over-burdened strip
to stride on with scientific footwork
that manually masters the self-actualizers
then rebates as it cuts the grass
a small man, a lamp post, a big tree
no syllogisms no guarantees
is that the sound of spokes, spooks
a principle pricking on the plain
or a daschund dawdling down the dale
cacophonies of homophonies turn off the phonies
how loud the city & your bright in my brain