Offal

Offal
full of buckshot.
Having gotten lost.

The awful wet
of west coast beaches.
The speech

is no longer
relevant.
The penitent man

never would revel in it.
(or he might
revel in it)

The cold
The smell of some
fresh-cut grasses

We know it
can't last past us.

Us

American Experience says
because of Bush
Clinton,
Bush.

Cyclone in Burma

The Myanmari government isn't
letting in aide
workers,
but aide.

Dead men can
not carry bags of rice,
bread.
Everyone's dead.

the Distant Flaps of Fireworks

The distant flaps of fire-
works. The trying not

to think. The jerks. The
claps of thunder down

the path. The taking of
a bath, in dark

Hoping—on a lark
The deepening air-mass aloft

pushing down
on shoulders, in tub.


Marking time, just
really phoning it in. The

eventual win: Not un-
expected. Not unwelcome.

The constant wind, the absent
eventual rain. The waiting there

the waiting there.
The waiting anywhere.

After Polar Low

All the wind, the downed whirlly-gigs,
the ginko sprigs in piles on the ground.

A pound of flesh. A freshness in con-
versational skill. An empty till

Beyond and empty till. The scouring
clean—by wind—the ancient ground

Whencefrom these virulent temperate
forests? The occidental naval chorus

rings in a tautly orchestrated song.
Who brought along, this palimpsest

philologist?

This climate's positively noxious. This
really knocks us. It effects us. Let them

have that little respite

the Effect of Vinnie Leaving

Paperback
on top of pile, torn

Old poems, old
unfinished poems

Empty bag
New books

Old books

the Dream

Oh God!
This is

not what
I want.

I've roiled
in the

Oil-Font,
and came

out clean.


The impression
of cleanliness—

of the joy from
dirty things—this

advice is illicit. And
unsolicited.


Four nights now,
I've had this dream

of living plainly and
fulfilled. I've seen the

rise and fall of all
of this.

And been availed of
simple wants by

waking in my bed.

Little Thrush

There is a thrush that slowly
dies. Fresh resting on piles
of ice.

There is a leaded meadow
that still glows with new burnish-
ings. Old.

And a discerning turtle-
dove. A fist; gloved as if a
falconress.

Assailed by dark waves of dreams
diving in on pluméd wings
of lust.

Common Vole

The rivulets are gunnels
of traction tracking

and a field vole's head
up in grass. Then retracting

into some hole
on plain.

Trepidation

Double breasted suits on
rack, in closet. Jet-

black. The unbearable
sheaves of paper. The

piles upon piles of
paper. And a sear-

able hunk.
The police's

Love

So much broken stem-
ware. I'm phlegm there

Clacks of broken boards
Smart slacks, two creases

And the ground beneath it
Lit by sidelong setting sun

Having fun with liquor
For wont of any other

Two brothers both
Alike in that shadows

Know both. Care less

[Set]

Set
the yard on fire. All around
your windows, blaze. The
legislation stays.
Play.

I've
sustained—on my two
shoulders—cuts, somehow.
They'll mend themselves.
Now

with
this new album, "Arm's Way,"
I'm not sure. I missed your
dinner party. Like a boor.
Sore

from
sitting still so long. The
rapturous traffic aloft,
redrawn. Heaved roughly
upon

divan.
In the back of van
with soda stains and can-
dy. Pops stuck in the carpet's
pile.

Why,
I'll clean it roughly. I,
Brick. I'll lick the wound
like tongues of forrest
creatures.

Who
prominently feature them-
selves in nature. A
sink hole that's opened up
somewhere.

Where
oil ruffage and slurry take
up a well-known gleam. An
idle summer dream of
Sheen.

[Mojitos go]

Mojitos go
asunder.

Tattoo,
barely

Monumental chunder.
Temporality

of skin.
Wobbly table

shimmed.
White walls.

Not enough
stuff

Trust

Ghosts above city
looking down see grid

Which isn't there,
and never did.


Eating holy bread
black coffee

Hold Summerians
at bay.


Noting sensible.
Diagonal intersections.

Minor chords

Brett

Jeans, blue
sweater-vest
umbrella

Impress us
upon us
things. Some

Work Traveller

How can these hands,
whose arms are covered
barely. By that wool
shirt, hold pens?

Manipulate a stylus
A point so fine across.
Whose finite measure
there, so lost?

You look good to me,
and simply. Hold ground
Tentatively toss away
your leather attache.

Exit

Exit
through the rear.
A flock
of cereal eating steer
descend a ridge

and melt.
Dolls on shelf
For myself I'll
cross the queer bridge
if I make it there.

Sleeping Over at Kyle's

Use the 12"
Magneto to
cover your retreat

He can control—and will—
the metal of the enemy
fleet.

Between door
jamb and bed
side table

treats. Computer
game defeats
and sleep.

Dania, Dan, Cheeba, Return of the Jedi

I was watching a movie
(Return of the Jedi) and
I had to pee, and to play
with a friend's friend's rat.

The first friend is Dania
the second friend is Dan
and the rat is actually a
Sugar Glider, which is like

a flying squirrel, only smaller.

Destroyer

I like to listen to Destroyer because
Dan Bejar is a cunning lyricist. And

because he isn't afraid of internal rhyme.
Or of using the same rhyme frequently.

the End of Critique Week

Critique week is over. It's
already Sunday morning.
It's Saturday night, early
in the morning. Every window
pane rattled singing, barely
restrained. I've still got a
paper to write. Only one for
finals. Because I already
wrote a novel this semester.
It's called "the Life of Cold,"
and I've disowned the sense
that any protagonist isn't me.

I may or may not have an
assignment due on Monday
for the History of Photography.
I only had to write two pages
about my place in this world
of art. And attend lectures
every Monday. For sixteen
weeks. Minus two when Alan
was in Russia. And two I skipped,
or three. Literature theory
is the class I've got to write the
paper for. I don't know it.

Or anything. I've got to find an
article on jstor to compare
with something we read this
semester. I've got to re-write
a chapter of the book for the
reading in two weeks. I don't
know which one I'll use. I've
got to call the bank, a third
time. I've got to find a new
place to live, and new people
to live there with. My room-
mates are all going home.

Callie is going to Seattle, Vinnie
is going back to Portland in
Oregon. Dania's here with me.

Electrical Sockets

Electrical sockets
pockets full
coffee.
New jeans that
everybody's wearing
new jeans.

Glare off the screen
Everyone is beaming here.
We're done
a ton of shit
incomplete
Graduate, defeat.

Something lusted
after. Red pleather
handbag. Christopher
Guest.
Harrison Ford. Faint
we're quaint.

Light

(for Callen)

Savory maltodextrin
powder coating
Sondre Lerche for children.
Gentle-
men. A sense
of then.
A sharp quill,
pen.

Gawdy wooden jewelry
bought off online:
opposites.
Sit
gently down in the
new grass. This
summer
will pass.