Friday, August 22, 2014

Strange Brew




Somebody is dreaming you
and/or you’re dreaming someone.
How else remotely to account
for all the strangeness of this brew? –

thoughts that do not come from you;
yearnings you’ve no place for? –
the odd proclivities you now
somehow have found a taste for?









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Thursday, August 21, 2014

Sink It





Is everything we do foregone?
Can we instigate the dawn
of something new? It doesn’t
matter, really, probably: we’ll
do the things we do; waffle

‘round the way we’re waffling
‘round right now -- and let
the quiet wow of slow-diffusing
hues imbue us: till we notice
we are colorful. We’re the mother

full of milk; we’re the renegades
who drink it. If we want to think
a thing, more than likely we will
think it. Meanwhile, fill the tub
and take this poem there:

and sink it.






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Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Hanging Out with You




Rivulets of untoward sense
like juice from ripe Augustan peaches
reach transgressively from me to you
and you to me while I hang on

your nearest knee and we reveal
the panoply. Hanging out with you
resembles sex – the spirit, not the letter.
We like what we do better.










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