at home with the tree 

notice 

tangle 

clouds 

admire me I am a violet

palimpsest cuts written this poem against you:

Does Shall we allow the question of what constitutes have speaking subject to answer itself?

not one my watch.

Inclusive I' m attempting to Be here.

beans are inclusive of beanness, I think.

With camera sides from left to right, appears to reorient figure absent from the frame, tenders flexibly combative abdication from the photograph of castle drawn in pencil.

then the happy squirrel raced across the lawn with the nut in its mouth.

This is what we might call has process.

peerage has its ventures.

Reach the end of the board and you' Re allotted higher notch, one whipping post of ghost hierarchy's boldfaced blacklist.

and when the drain gets clogged, turn to Drano for relief. Capital This is what we might call the cost of equipment.

yew could Be conscious of the pennies involved in just laying it all out.

has mechanical delivery system failed to account for the weight of another clause scratched onto its surface, so palimpsest attempts via the unknown to give terminology purpose.

log jams wait.

Alli Warren one

Alli Warren two

I can say what I like or don't of writings. I enjoy the transitions in Alli's writing, which is fast but not aggressive. she doesn't have to lift the car off its tracks and onto different ones, the car just bumps over there. that's an ear listening to the words arriving rather than the eye watching the audience. a less defensive stance than...

World Bitchin' Toad Returns

May bitchin' Person in the sink answer my bitchin' belief in himself.
I jolt pig without staring at flame.

bitchin' but supercilious grammarian bitchin' this bitchin' bottom some bitchin' alive bitchin' I return, true bitchin' he bitchin' himself.

I do not hear, I answer bitchin'.

You bitchin' infamy, bitchin' topic sentence, bitchin' without.

LEFT to go them, and I then, when the evening extends against the sky like a patient etherized on one table, leave.

with some ways half-abandoned, 5 bitchin' nights churned in the hotels.

economic night saw dusty restaurant and pensions, cottages with oyster-shell.

Ways that follow like a painfully reasoned bitchin'.

the insidious intention to conduct to a Casablanca issue...

10 times OH, do not ask, "and this is he?"

We leave to make our visit.

In the room the women come and enter speech, bitchin' Michael Angel.

The yellow fog that smells like oregano is the posterior part of glasses.

15 times yellow smoke of oregano nuzzles the glasses.

staccato has its language in the bitchin' angles.

evening lingers to you on the swimming pools that are kept in the drains.

leaves fall on posterior part.

sooty fireplaces fall without warning, slide from the terrazzo, make a jump.

Lanny Quarles seems to be back in bloggery. cool links to Poe Stuff. Poe's critical work is fascinating. he throws so much of his hard won learning in, and it's clear that he's just superiour to so much of the common fare. I remember somebody he reviewed, for no reason, this writer wrote all footnotes in French, the rest of the book in English. a fact that amused Poe. Poe is definitely a there. as to Lanny, he pours out a striking array of verbal and visual work that doesn't fall into neat borders. too bad, right?

terrific post by Nick Piombino, ruminating here and there, to end with some useful thoughts on Ted Berrigan. John Latta fizzed recently about blogging, that the preening and networking can make for a tiresome experience. to which I agree. but there's potential for a NY energy in the medium, if you go. not into snotty ass tiffs, but go for a ride. that's Berrigan to me, he rode it. which doesn't mean speed up unless speed is your dialect. Nick rambles at a pace and it is just the thing. when I write about Ikea or shopping the mall, the conscious thought is that this is a ride of surprise, which I would choose over the kind of entrenchments one sees often enough, the spectacle of being so right. I mean, when your opinion isn't surprising to yourself, why bother the go? so I'm happy to read Nick's wandering course, with its implicit I didn't know it was a subject. subjects are for essays.

I read in the Globe today about a man with the goal of drinking a cup of coffee at every Starbuck's. good enough, we all need our adventures. his may be hopeless since Starbucks, it said in the article, averages 11 new stores domestically and 3 internationally every week. AND Starbucks plans to add 1000 new stores next year. I don't know if that is 1000 internationally or for each township that Starbucks can find. either way: quite an expansion. er, Diorite Man.

both friday morning AND saturday morning found Beth and me at the mall. part of our anxiousness to prod the economy forward, into the guts of tomorrow. stores were offering discounts and time-limited sales, you CAN'T beat the savings!!! ne'er before had I been to the mall on the day after Thaksgiving, which, I read in Scopes.com, is NOT the busiest sales day of the year. it may be the busiest with hordes out pressing flesh, but not the moneyest. so that shows to go you. we found parking in the same county, so the hordes hadn't quite gotten the message about helping the US economy in its time of need. 1st adventure was bras for Beth. since I wore my glasses and Beth forgot hers, I got to paw the merchandise for the right size. does it get any better than that? and standing in line with the selection while Beth darts off for socks. poked thru the Levis selection while serenaded by a door alarm that wasn't about to be hushed. a stop at men's fragrance to enter in a contest offering Carlos Santana signed bongos as prize. should I stop here to note that I am writing here New York prose? yup, NY School of Prose, Massachusetts Division. Beth stopped at a makeup counter, and got the whole treatment. the sales person there, a sweet Russian woman, practically shooed me away for fear I'd gather too many female secrets. I did toddle off for a run down the main mall lane. where the pushcart folk resemble moray eels as they lunge at you with their dreadful calling plans and appliances that steam away wrinkles. I popped into a music store and looked at iPods (forget the music). our 2nd visit to the mall began with a purchase of a coffee maker. Beth saw glass bird ornaments. over the last few years we've accrued a monster array of Xmas ornaments. Crate and Barrel offers these brightly coloured ones that appeal to my taste: this side of gaudy. down the escalator to the thumpthumpthump of trendy clothes. I mean the music, some manner of techno, the pride of drum machines. down the escalator from there, and do I hear bagpipes merging from the dance beat? sure and begorrah! a designer from Waterford Glass was in the house ready to sign your purchase. a fellow in green kilts was playing the warpipes to keep everyone amused. the cosmetics saleswoman greeted us as we passed. Beth showed her a glass bird, which the woman cooed over. Beth gave one to her. then we went to the music store because those iPods... I got a Shuffle for myself and wanted to get the next size up for Erin but they were out. when I finally got it all figured out at home, I listened to "Omaha" by Moby Grape, and I was really home.

I was struck by this picture, and liked the ensuing text. the elderly aren't the only ones liable to remain shut in, but they often end up that way. for a brief time, my father flourished in adult daycare. he got out and saw people, he was after all, gregarious by nature. soon, tho, he became anxious about getting home again, and the experience became a worry. I've seen this with some of the people with whom we do a painting class. sometimes the world's too big, and too much with us, to boot.