home, fire, and life

June 29, 2014 § Leave a comment


a query from

the agent about

my defects


June 27, 2014 § Leave a comment


when my wife says

what about me I tell her

they’re about nobody



flys (sic)

June 26, 2014 § Leave a comment


the flies born in

the rain listen to my

troubles in the shed


the far right is the far left

June 24, 2014 § Leave a comment



my son says I’m not playing I’m having fun



ED BENNETT ant ant ant ant ant four

June 23, 2014 § Leave a comment





lady carrying

dish looking for spot to put

little shine on things


fingers tucking in

edges each window open

all across the land


adjusting the hang

of the camisole wild beast

lurking in darkness


watching two women

in silk pantaloons copy

the veins of a leaf


crowds in black roaming

the hills to spoon smoke rising

out the volcano


a tough man takes seat

in corner with his eye out

for success at last


relating story

of the fish accurately

opens wooden door


amidst the living

dead bamboo stands old master

dangling from the wall


coverlet of white

butterflies carved in niches

on the rock mountain


red flower growing

from a cloud into pale blue

shining projectile






June 22, 2014 § Leave a comment


Lack of distinguishing features our new term for missionary zeal


Enough heat to possess a scent in the sweepings a blue stone


The nothing to say places they loom above the weeds


At some point in our conversation you took off your shoes


Spiders settling in where my habits wear away the edges


The wet spot on your pants has dried a school bus underground


Set on fire the brief history of prosthesis it smells of iris


Fastened by a tangle a strand of hair cuts into the apple peel


Some days we hide in the vowels the sprinkler leaves a few weeds





June 21, 2014 § Leave a comment


the crow eats crow it tastes like chicken


June 20, 2014 § Leave a comment


my new pill

I already have

the side-effects

CRAG HILL ant ant ant ant ant four

June 19, 2014 § Leave a comment


the rose of occasion


you choose to vomit




information is being


an entirely different worm surfaces




short of breath, tall of dark


waiting for the ground war




beauty is not the point


most of beauty is icebergs

the topic crowds with horror




late patterns of thought


media pretends



ROBERT CREELEY ant ant ant ant ant one

June 13, 2014 § Leave a comment




Forget it,

man. It’s





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