winter takes a break everybody has the london flu
takes it easy so why not him our backyard is an
icebox turned on defrost. through all pores drips
melts runs how vulgar can you get. as snow dis-
appears old garbage reappears and i read
" a nest is a bird's house "
i've known this for a long time people have told
me for a long time it is such an old story in
fact i hesitate to repeat it. nests are places of
intimacy designated by an attraction. there does
not exist an intimacy that is repellent. its being
is well being. and memory is a wardrobe with the
presence of lavender the history of the seasons
enters. what dreams are reserved for us if we re-
call the land of tranquility. memories come crowd-
walk on water skate on ice. what color ice? my skates are alfred johnson skates. PAT. AUG. 27. 1918 NO 1277137 CHICAGO USA NOT CONNECTED WITH NESTOR JOHNSON MFG CO. does ice mirror? it is day ice is silver metallic blue color of mirror of skates. lake's face we glide over used to mirror sky. did the lake look forward to freezing point? to when the liquid surface crusts? innocent enough it starts. water cooled turns heavy sinks warmer water surfaces. continuous cooling. watch the sun skid on ice. i am joking he never does detests slippery surface. it starts with a shiver continuous cooling goose pimples. for a second a certain expectant dullness of the surface then a thin skin forms like on milk cooling continuously. ice is less dense so floats its power lies in expansion. do you think skating a substitute for flying? empires of ice expand below. domain of the beautiful but terrible ice queen. palace walls of drifted ice windows of bitter wind a hundred halls ablaze by northern lights. gemini fly a lot in dreams as long as they are light. air is their element. at night ice is black even from above i guess i should know. we love to skate at night on a surface well lit.
followed creek upstream
till lost in stones
wait in a dark
cloak
for ride
east.
road goes up in brown hills
ten thousand men
walk in the gardens of the prophet
no cars
white & black goats in shallow wash
mountains move far away
I don't want to repeat
the same mistakes over again,
or the mistakes somebody else made just so
I can have the experience of them. See, fucked up again. Live and learn. And off the excessive fondness for one's own self knowledge, untested, but reigning supreme. That leads me more astray, every day. What we commonly know in the air, in our dreams, what chooses continually & continually to grow, the obvious under our noses, is this life. Yearning in blindness. The weed has a name, is quite proud of itself, builds a community with other weeds, birds hop through. The imported domestic is a labor of love, but a labor, such a labor. At home here, no single thought is my thought. It whispers
The fire doors
open out going down
hinged at the left
to the outside frame.
In the intricacy of the stacks,
tier on tier,
turning always right
it was possible
for a man
to remain unnoticed.
incurved
the frame's vault
the door's metal
the hand opens
in the gesture
of closing
No one here but me and these gently bleating crickets
The way with June is this:
it ends
(and first it's my sister's birthday)
then it ends
Today in the smell of
elderberry blossoms
today in the colour of
rice crispies on a steel spoon of milk
today in the hand of
putty & windowglass of
getting confused/fingers/putty oil/ not really finding/
a way/looks bad/keeps falling out/the depth/of the
impossibility/thickness/frush/fruss/infinite heartless
boredom/shit/frustration
of desire to know/therefore control
Or Awhile
piece of matting tossed out
catches the sun-
Edo?
corn is ripe somewhere.
a warehouse of scarecrows?
soup after prayers.
heavy trucks, now
mammoths frozen in glaciers
first rains.
neon fireflies
beside a black river…
in wet asphalt
rice stalks waving.
where am i?