Category: Uncategorized
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A Small Umbrella
anavalancheonce told me toerr is human, but toblame the cosmos fortumbling intentions in arainthatwontstopwillonly griefbring
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Our Heigthening City
Where multiplicity forgoes general force, innocuously duplicated:A can of soup, a can of soup, a can of soup, then Marilyn. If it’s all the same we’ll just use tinfoil—tinfoil telephone,tinfoil table, tinfoil tree tops. Tinfoil to the moon. Let tonight’s body lay straight and still,in either exhibition or excavation. Each ending, both vacuous and expired…
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February
In February, the run-off to the reservoir is frozen.I spend countless night falling asleep with the lights on,stepping over salted wooden steps & bird feather.I am tired of sharing.In New York, the subway stations are just as cold as it is outside.You can’t believe how heavy the lids get in February,or how the glare is…
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Vanishing Points
I am traveling straight but feel a pinch in the landscape.The purple mountains I pass eclipse the idea of volcanoes, Fastened tightly to the earth, hard-backed and shelled.Clouds move along as warnings. Their fog, a veil Which covers the modesty of looking-in. I take offMy shoes and pretend to be motherless. The pavement is still…
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Correspondence: 2
To Whom It May Concern: Each year I recede further away from the road.I watch each morning go by with suspicious eyes.My pieces sit elevated by the roadside.This assemblage has taken time. _________ yours, Sensible Architect Dear Sensible Architect,.A driving-through measures nothing.The rest is just unfortunate overflow.The day knows not from where you watch.To sunder…
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Conversations on Limitability
A: It is hard to sit with yourself. Focus at first is not understood. B: Why is nothing like looking up? A: Like an arc whose bend stretches on for highways?B: It is hard to focus among machinery whose precision makes sense of human error and fatality. A: I once thought I was a fatalist…
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Correspondence: 1
To Whom It May Concern: Tonight is like driving in cars for miles.Tonight is like being suspended between.Feeling is something that I do in private.I am moving fast, but not fast enough.The past isn’t dead; it isn’t even past. Hungrily yours, Sensible Architect Dear Sensible Architect, Sensible, as in shopper?As in, petite with soft hands…
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The Canyon, The Audience, and The Stage
Heavy hoofs of commitment shuffle through the night.What you can’t see can’t stop you from falling forward; The bravest of us have thrown stones & felt along the edges with our palms. ________________________ We play it through.We play for keeps. ________________________ The gape of this mouth will not be made to swallow. We dot lines…
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The Willing and The Accomplice: An Aboutness
It’s not so much that she ingests the whole compendium,but that the pieces she is exposed to stay with her. It is in passing that she notes this exchange. What is this skein that sits on top of the worldbut embankment, which holds the willing forcefully to the turn. These pieces with their hard stopsmake…
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Intimacy From a Distance
Who can say that the sun has got it rightjust because it finds its way through closed windows? The sound of water means something is being cleaned;The sound of water here means something is being cleaned away. Candidness is a trap. We amass vestiges, then give them frames. What came before double edges? Everything is…
No Help for That | Jackie Clark 