Sunday, June 05, 2005

Droplet Micrologies

That these particular cumulonimbuses need not
have had as such this much moon’s
blessing, odor layered as they
were by its reoccurring
disappearances.

Tougher too, driving beneath almost diving
willows’ intermittent dithering, plus
narcotic balsam poplars non-
competing with hawthorn’s
lesser pissy brew: all
spots, all

…worrisome. That a windscreen anxiety,
misplaced virgulate and runneling
and runcinate but not pointing
true, just a mere face away
should differentiate
panic from
dull thud.

To deal with rain physics now, I
should light slide control,
construe story,
look through look road ahead, keep on,
keep going, not
misanthropise.

Skew once and the entire journey’s
heresy. Palette slate sky,
crow gone home
long.
Mayflies (were) abounce yesterday. Ago.
Ionised badly, each day’s simplest promises have turned
unusable dribble: cow parsley,
fluorescent rape,
even linseed,
are a fool’s
nose.

A hosta’s single flower stem like a fibroblastic penis
gone wrong, skewering for warmth.
Home unboar’d sowbrick wall
wanting intromission.
Bother, prick out or smother which thought
rots, which thought begot which thought.
Ought striving wet. Pentecost makes
empty strawhead uncalled
forth avocations.

Break, brood, scud vaporous
and dim. There’s no
muscles plead
steam. I try
unleach lean
crop scarcity

Season’s bleeding rose
buds fret. Cope.

Open not.

2 comments:

anders said...

Wow. What a bunch of music. I will read this in full later. I got to take a shower and DO SUNDAY CHORES (dammit)!

anders said...

Now I have looked some more. The sense of music is exquisite, and the text makes like a delicate parchment in between of sort of this post-Celanian langpo detritus of the words, and a sort of post-Ashberyian drifting omniscient signification of the chaos chorus, less ominous than Henry Darger, however. Very exquisite pointillist advancement/deferral of meaning. Post-Merrill bells 'n whistles. "The point being. . ." is what the vulgar say; however, not all texts have to be a (natural to his own karma) Bukowski managing to offend the sensitive assistant professor. Hell, in another life, he was an assistant professor.

Cloud image at S1 reminds me of a poet from Canada I know named Noverili.

S2 has clear Merrill musical interfacing.

S3 is enforcing, now, an echoed graphical form (compare S2), and hints at deeper meaning, but also ironizes "deeper."

From "a hosta's. . ." a little like Dean Young (?). All see Treeza's penis poem over at her blog. For some reason this text is creating a namedropping snowstorm in me. I sound like a serial 'dropper. Please excuse.

A formation like "rain physics" is a little like Graham.


The close, cope, open not, is a plain statement, or plain presentation, of the crux: deferral of the long-sought. This writer lives in paradox, but sort of rubs down its edges before they get too sharp.

Now I sound like an I Ching. I think it's bedtime.

Question: What happens when your approach veers more toward plain statement? I don't mean you must morph into Ted Kooser, but, I am curious, can you also mimic a more "newspaper" or "default clear image systemTM" mode? I want all the subtle poets to out-Kooser Kooser, basically just run in and snatch all the cool kitsch in the yard sale before he even gets there. I got the rooster lamp!


Respectfully,


bunt.