Friday, April 08, 2005

For Love Mutation

It wishes they would come untrue.

Echo of only up yours: stumble

into the confessional. They're mind-

less to say anything. It's all reruns.

Speaking of the devil, caustic

drivel repairs its own love. Wooden

ether not the moon but pretentious.

Finally, what is it can't stand

alone. Stadium pain. Minor repairs

in the infrastructure that it had to

but just couldn't transplant. Company

man better creep. Tag, you're it.

Monday, April 04, 2005


With complete attention he *took hold of* C.R.'s question. He rolled it over. Looked at the belly of it. Considered it. Then answered. The answer was more sincere than it needed to be. The question was loaded, had an agenda. (What question doesn't? How gullible do you think we are?) He knew the question had an agenda but answered through it. Not in spite of it. But *by way of* it. The answer was not of tremendous use. Not really. But the seriousness of the answer confirmed the agenda *as* a stance towards language and the world but not as a focus of attention. The answer -- the answer w/in the answer -- was get on w/ it. Get down to it. So we did.

I had been reading his Collected Poems. I would soon be reading his correspondence with C.O. I was an apprentice. I am an apprentice.