Poetry

As for my photographs Print regardless What more can I tell them Print regardless

the curve is a hill pending

What happens in the Plains States— It’s not by any brilliant design that The roads are symmetrical on the maps Straight up and down straight across There are few hills and homes It saves money and pavement to build That way it’s just roots common sense— If I braided the roads around Nebraska And Kansas…

just a few miles before it went down it was covered with a cloud so that the edges of it were clear no rays and it looked like a huge full moon and I thought about looking into it pretending it was the moon and knowing all the time it was the sun looking in…

Pounding the piano keys with hammer Perhaps I’m just a little worn Anxious with my ideas about fashion Popular places on this planet Green water coastlining particularly Radical chic blondes Ho Chi minks Linked to gentle underworld types or else: Just linked to my lovely children: Well we can mild warm air and ferry ride…

The Editor to His Stoned Assistant: The pans are too slow and deliberate church after church in the snake August haze and those frigging teardrop doors cut ’em goddammit! Indian Extra: What we read comes through muffled no tempo no pace that sudden cold Stoned Assistant Editor: It’s strange the sense of the non word…

Superstition, more consistent that dog, God or alcohol, was slathered onto the face of a young beauty I knew Nose, lip, tooth, eye, limb, hand and hip were portraits of such meanings as kind, courteous, honest, brave, weak and true What bliss to be in his presence. Safety was insured, as he always rejected the…

The Bronze Statue                 (Léon-Paul Fargue) The frog on the tumbler-game in the park Gets bored at night, when it all gets dark. She thinks a statue’s life is absurd, Always about to pronounce a great word,                 The Word . . . She would rather be—as she’d often hope— Blowing bubbles of music with…

     It’s unlikely that the caravan is going to get to you at all. You’re sitting under a date palm with Jean Genet. “When slaves make love,” he says, “they’re really doing something else.”      ”What?” you’re about to ask him, when the words of Vauvenargues come to you. `It is equally a sign of weakness to…