tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30588881431508200712023-06-20T21:26:13.843-07:00dromedariesLars Palmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18014279624033048950noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3058888143150820071.post-27573171495711364282008-03-31T17:05:00.000-07:002008-04-05T12:11:04.346-07:00Andy Gricevich; poems<span style="font-weight:bold;">from THALES</span><br /><br />What’s everything?<br />Place contains it<br />falsely. Grey waves<br />on the colony<br />at Miletus<br />suggest embrace.<br />He turns<br />until pyramids <br />match their shadows,<br />draws them in<br />circles. Wants laws<br />like rising mist.<br />Against this, a river<br />to drink. He <br />and Solon<br />in the vast<br />dust. <br /><br />*<br /><br />Cleaning raw egg off a wood floor<br />won’t convince you that all is water. Thought’s <br />speed. Charging through everything,<br />incomparable. Slow down!<br />Too late. 720<br />moons in the sun<br />“which beams in Charles’ wain.”<br /><br />*<br /><br />A Rod of Amber: Why do you not spawn?<br /><br />The Olive Speculator: Because I love children.<br /><br />The Birth of Philosophy<br /><br />*<br /><br />elong / casual / ensouled / I / river / Ursa / or / Asia<br /><br />minor / focus / the / samian / all / that / is / solid<br /><br />a wave<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">from EXPOSURES</span><br /><br /><br />Indwelling jargon parades<br />against clockwork, renews<br />a softer emergence . . . . etched<br />vs. mist<br /><br />Music<br />makes the world<br />louder by contrast<br /><br />Cars distinguish <br />one another<br /><br />Unmetaphorical<br />germination <br />takes precedence<br /><br /><br />*<br /><br /><br />sedate at this, but I want to fucking drive<br />a wedge<br /><br /><br /><br />*<br /><br /><br /><br />Form went inside,<br />so lost itself. <br /><br />Neighbors of belief<br />begin to time<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Out of ear<br />shot: leaks, rills<br />of news. Ends<br /><br />of lines incur<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">from EXPOSURES</span><br /><br />To rescue<br />one another<br />including us<br /><br />we have to tear away the metaphor<br />of depth<br /><br /><br />Time is as familiar<br />and uninhabitable as the bored ice<br /><br />Riddled petals<br />Crawling housewife<br />at least noted<br /><br /><br /><br />Shapes argue with the whole picture--every detail<br />sweats charm and grace, and it stinks--to you. <br /><br />Park the form in what happens and the attentions. <br />"I have a dying person on the other end." That they<br />would cast each other's shadows and not parrot.<br />"I stitched his Senate shut."<br /><br /><br /><br />Explosion of birds <br />from the roof when the car<br />door slams out of habit<br /><br /><br />Snout around for signs<br />of disbelief <br />blacked against desire.<br /><br />Fuck spirit<br />--once. <br /><br />Eight minutes 'til we fail to weep. <br /><br />Screen holds twelve sec.<br /><br />Just ego scriptor in the third thought place.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DECADIC NEWS (return policy)<br /></span><br /><br />TEN YEARS LATER<br />Serial snow covers the absence of the last<br />as you return to a self you are<br />for the first time. In layers you flash<br />in the pan. Clay strains, unfortunate fractures<br />slow as the salt forming out then and there. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />ALL POINTS BULLETINS<br />lined up around the block<br />not long since, too long<br />after sunset’s undertow<br />brought a story of some ardor<br />into perspective for “us”<br />and “your” children, waiting<br />to populate the song<br />when I have ceased to sing<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /><br /> PRISONER’S TONGUE (a camera caught it)<br />at one point the lead<br />said CUT IT OUT—not <br />with regard to the<br /> <br />*<br /> <br />emphasis on the damned.<br />Today’s purple blossom<br />—except this range<br /> <br /><br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br />“EXPECT THIS PAIN”<br />Value is exchanged for Event<br /> <br />why then should my self<br />not follow the materials<br />into the well of echoes<br /> <br />all floats. all floats <br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />ANOTOMY<br />increasing rendition<br /> <br />arches of a toccata over<br />lapping the tin ear<br /> <br />fingers hardened to limbs<br />that once scored the shore<br /> <br />scoured clean of clinging noise<br />the drone of calculation<br />knuckled down<br /> <br />limb-tips<br />might have <br /> <br />traced<br />nocturnes of passing true<br /> <br />felt <br />around in the silence<br />softening this wreck<br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />TENURES LATER<br />In order of appearance the guests <span style="font-style:italic;">ghosts</span><br />took on a radiance<br /> <br />reimagined<br /> <br />veiny, swift<br />and time-consuming<br /> <br />things have accidents<br />often each other<br /> <br />“so go write some goddamn poems about <span style="font-style:italic;">next</span>”Lars Palmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18014279624033048950noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3058888143150820071.post-86085312994010031362008-03-05T20:05:00.000-08:002008-03-06T04:01:43.041-08:00Christopher Rizzo; Insomnia AuditionsThis one out in the interim check <br />a part of what and how o'clocks<br /><br />a key they call minor inscape margins noting<br /><br />a short straw pulled<br /><br />no reach for next reason<br /><br />a role for no one but yourself <br />curtain drawn by light<br /><br />panes raw dawning<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Weak weekday on the drift and sly<br /><br />then wake to say pistils<br />opened to alighting an uncomfortable lie<br /><br />put down the night word<br /><br />hoarse is the radio<br />lead throat to silencio but<br /><br />what keeps awake human static<br /><br />draft's cold sluice<br /><br />sharp's intangible<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />To one extent death<br /><br />let go into wind a sheet <br />music for when<br /><br />windlass whirls in morn<br /><br />worms and sheaves <br />segmentations segues<br /><br />brevity a breath<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What left <br />to leave<br /><br />a space as much<br /><br />to keep at <br />say<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pace nights dream wedge unreason<br /><br />regress to one part rust and the rest <br />waste one more<br /><br />ticks tick more slowly now than else<br /><br />less feeless<br />than doldrums beat<br /><br />all the king's men didn't want to<br /><br />a ruler's increments don't <br />star the lineaments<br /><br />Orion made of stopsLars Palmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18014279624033048950noreply@blogger.com