Accidence

She clips your bumper and beware
Not gently thwarts
Soft and stiff
Trees and bushes, brushes
Eggs it on, sunny sides up of
Drenched bleached
Of form
South American sounds
that equator turns upside down

If she’d just, as she threatens too
Push

°

Or crash,
Or piss and whittle it, wish
Away. Ocean Liners
Gull. white, sparkled foam, spanish
A Mossy bicarbonate buzz
The whip of a kite
A pacing skate
stuck in a tidal end.

You were thirteen.
Oily glacier glasses, Swedish fish, burns from sand in the sex wax.
Long sleeved pipelines over the evening
When those first clay rubbery weird forms
in bronze feminine fabric
We walked way down the beach
Outside a trailer in
Big New Jersey
As if we were off to war
just a mustache of fuzz above it
Forever Corrine, dark hair and freckles, another suburban sacred heart
Forever Sandy, the summer my brother chased me with an axe

I wrote you a letter when I got back
Then just grew up.

The whimsical carving
A joke on ceramics.

So-scape

A crater, an obelisk, and an ice-breaker
Together. A Hunch :
the wince of a dunce in a windbreaker

It’s a crimp in the rib of the sky.
A field of bumps.
When you tell the class what you really want.
Landscaping the shells and limes tone
Trimming the hush
red earth
Pitched reeds and varmint.

It’s sweet a TB (bucaholic) heart
Crushed and twittered, pasteurizing.

It’s an ace, three sleeves, and the jack of Kites
It’s Mink, Mate. herald mossy
Check against
the two sands and the nine of hairs,
Mate.
After God and Greed leave lonely rooks.

It’s a piece of land,
Pushed back and pulled forward by fog and light and
Tonight, Night.
Of floral and faunal fruit, Praised rain, cursed hail
now close
I went to second base with that earthy Bi
Itch and have been stood up and walked out on since
It snowed. All that time. Ice
Nowadays
People are not very interested
in igloos.

The Opposite of Cowgirl

I saw this girl dressed like a cowgirl at the Pantheon, I just had to say something.
What the fuck, I asked, why are you dressed like fucking Dolly Parton, miss?
She couldn’t believe I was speaking English.

an absurd connection to an untrue thought
Both but still stir this over.

I saw this girl and
Stutter, confronted
Dressed with these wings which distract me
from reason and speech.
What a cushy sound I made, falling
without resistance. What an ass was I
(I dared not look at hers)
Bewitched
trying to remember something
besides her Eyes-

Yes, witchy.
How I even manage to write it down is strange-made.
& O yes did I mention I totally blew it?
bewitched despite my credentials.
I just thought
I mean just
Moved towards it
Never considering other
As if you wished, I
Just admitted it all.
In stutters and flight.
When just before
desperately seeking
whatever your name is.

Amongst all this

Between the distant sound and smell of the studio
green tea and pot and beer and news radio and podcast-
I used to paint, before kids
at least the second
kid
Now recall and try to believe in
Ghosts and comforts
Listen to Liege and Leaf
mildly faint under the smoke and songs
Hardly breathe in bed.

I clearly avoid, under this sun, to fix the gate the ants have unhinged
Or haul out the white trash where the scorpions and snakes have surely squatted

In a dream on death, on National Geographic, where the clouds went so fast
So far from a square dance at a catholic elementary, a Luau
Even wearing gloves, they bite through
& Is between.

Lofting

The light left on late when for water you wander toward
Dawn
Limitless, achieving light.
An over evident reflection of your unbecoming age
A deep deep quiet place
Repeating colors’ names is useless here
Call it obvious and oily, “fat over lean”
In all fields
What makes object differ from image if
The same varnish seals them?
Like silence refuses a Noeme
Music instantaneously debunks its making
So un-spontaneous, is
As if the boat builders were the musicians and the musicians sailed

For who can’t navigate the chine and chisel, axe and line
Long night of hard wind
Just measuring and marking it

A Nor’easter meets a Maestrale
two verbs clutter to find port.

Is this Polis?

You are my star, true, but still
I must add, galacticly parling, in a brush of surf
You said, friend, that
Every trade or science known to man is needed to understand
the landscape/ Or something close

Yes, Maps of sand, the heavy breath of the coast
Inside looking out
If fishing, shitting, dreaming & electric ladyland
Get us closer to the sound.
That’s why we bury these stakes and lay stones
Spray for mold and prune.

We build shit, we kick ass, yes
You said, friend, that
Form is extension of content, but
Bob, not really.
There was Kant and
Form being, you know, if you wish to split hairs.
Like I was saying to Colby about Fred a few days ago that
Being is Becoming, or was it vice versa-
Or did I miss entirely the point? Remember, I only paint.
But that’s not true either.

Why this nostalgia for before when you was
Born? My grandfather’s heart, too, was removed
His tracks of Bright Angel, AZ, so
Is this what you mean by local?
The rule is to make new
Rules?
All this talk to say
BE ?
Strange, Humans and Gloucesternauts need a lesson in this.
Most folks never saw themselves from above, I guess.

I was just snorkeling and playing the dobro
and welding volume to tone and hacking the shit out of the briar
Getting stung and stinging back at the bees
Was building something concrete around these riverous dreams
Living with spiders,
I painted a portraits of Bob and Chuck
on my knees Spent every cent
for them words when new & used words were costly
scaling Pasolini and Pound, crossing Ancel & Agee
Sorry, I was, how you say
Kicking ass ?

But now the summer’s passed.
Peace, farewell.
I have these pieces , thank you.
At least words space out time

Poli-puss
hush.