Another place where form weds content best is music with a song in minor about your autumn lover who you’ve timed out entirely with sung as the season like white December just before snow. Words can’t make that minor can’t pound make that someone knew that to write a poem in key what’s the rhythm & how does one dictate slow maybe visually in some dimension concrete since textual images leap not beyond text for context & how ideate us pathos make it look for look to look look! she raised her pantleg wrapped round walked back white electric candle as song wool thumb-detached mittens jackets a corpulent moon (for the moon is fat and sizzling) if maybe over the mountain silhouette full & thirsty wood house of red trim yellow the mother ate a burger on the porch big mouthfuls descend the hill to climb another less incline measured steps descend visually smaller lines maybe whose look’s too slow to sad like a season & gone!
There my eye eyes my eye there eyeing my good eye. That’s me there. That’s me mostly older now eyeing my good eye there. Never rode the seven then, not even when seven now that eye never seems to flash as that eye once when seven. That eye has sandcrusts in its lashes, my lashes. That eye winks slow as moths of snow drift to twirls down the bottom of the hillside. That eye has snowcrusts. That eye caught that eye standing inside the gallery and that eye saw mine and our eyes held just for a second springtime planets. That eye tended down. Not nearly down say as the bottom of the hill. But that eye caught for long enough to catch that.
song doesn’t speak to him now too late married to the high seas doesn’t know whom he met drunk & wasted on the whaleroad convinced & forgotten (so he sings) existing to . . . no that image in a minor for autumn lover descends planksteps mailboxes slips on ice & caught her in his arms laughing mostly because pride hurt her most green light upon ocean flashing meaning signal to something
greenflick stop
greenflick greenflicker stop
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A tinkle of eyeballs. Intertwining of eyebells. Jingles of that flash of eye contact. Up there down near the library. Watercolors mostly roping groped eyes. That eye there tasted something soothing insatiate. A piggy of an eye like a puppy. These eyes walked down the hill down the sidewalk in the rainhaze and the golfballs of a puggle nearly jiggled out their sockets. Down the hill’s where the art’s at. As if these eyes signed songs as signatures into an eye flashed. Flashed like oysters and now the eye withdraws into a pocket of skin flesh fleshed pink as skynight unzipping. That eye, that eye
counting measures for her hair to wrap fingers not to strangle her brownly rhythm (it’s all rhythm) but to love her autumn beats for that still slower still but bleached hair at that in her auburn eyes in an autumn & not a major content of lyrics matching form of musical content of music formed of lyrics like an organ like a lung like another one or two below the belt aargh like a bell or a cake as one in autumn like a cake or a bell or a tin container closes door to where a ride full sails in the rain cigarettes before & during free Chinese creekside portside under a porch rain pouring into the bubbled creekrush swishfast hardly hears images exchanged on floor’s mat as bed & a window propped with a horseshoe or a doorknob or a rusty hook or some device & paintings by Amos of blue heads pointed toward the same sea see!
No even once when seven did the eye weaken save when focused deeply upon mostly hardlines as in say a tetherball pole or the game’s stringrope. The ball hardly. Handke wrote not to follow the ball as Bloch. Well who could argue with that? That rain channeled down brown near the walk walked hilldown to the artwork and said intertwined glances. That rain channeled down to a pool of cess resembling that eye’s iris.
paints a poem that he sent back too & the songs sensed at the tribal house sitting in front of her & mother beavers shaped from trees flashing ring of some gummy substance they eat Chinese for free she drives her mother’s car with salmon boxed in the back after paying the post because he has no money throws hat at her sitting waiting secret meetings of pac-man & arm wrasslin more moon the eye walk to the house uphill extinguishes smoke reverse-ly nearing police station keeps cig pocketed begs to press bodies against the cruiser & negated uphill apartments turn sidewalk cars to mother’s
This eye vilifies an untouched insignificance. Twinkle godammnit. Twinkle globes!
an embrace! that mattered for the entire earth in autumn Alaska! that did
Seven travels to a place this eye perhaps has not seen. This eye smells baby carrots unwrapped. Moths of snowdrift to twirls whirl in sodium. That prostitute offered to suck these eyes clean of mucus and miscellaneous fluid. Endearing. Not that one is better than that especially as the corpulent moon shines an eye itself vacuumed. Smacking eyes with that cheese eye as the rain dogs down. The unpatched via the patched as sensed once twice or more that day in April when no snow snowed still snowed and salmon spawned not just yet but the humidity hot as anything and sure the way home uphill sure walked like a sin when one gathered one’s wits in one’s guts at the top breath pounding a nuisance upon entrance and the sea still. No snow snowed but one felt snow at the bottoms of one’s toe’s tips and all around edges slicing itching but the sea remained the same as one eyed the islands across the way there and the floats flashing as they flashed not entirely unlike oysters as noted earlier for righteous sake. Humiliating hardly. Written in a book regarding Bloch who played ball sure enough and knew the ball enough not to look at the ball. Eye the goalie from what this eye all took in something like two or three years ago. Rain, rain, rain. Took that in and symbols too printed as fences and horses and all this for some literary
dug that gave free fish & more reason kept halibut for herself tells the girl about that as she reads the book about monkeys on the way to the market for some meat this no longer being autumn form & content not minor drift who doesn’t like monkeys really apes one hadn’t read that to Signed song signatures those eyes did and hung these as upon a scaffold. Laugh lines wrinkle flesh fat below these eyes. Those eyes closed as one entered the other first widening then relaxing and oozing inside an unexpected grimace mother reads as an impression not a form self-sufficient symbol and how is union beautiful why union beutifies symmetry a colorless blue Euclid shape . . . rather Cartesian coordinates about 4:30, 5:00 in the afternoon summertime overdid the flowers? question hardly remembered. Forget-me-nots in piled pots upon pots. & she shone then as she shines still pirated memory like a sin walking back up that concrete hill past the cops where one extinguished a cig upside-down flashing fireflies What of those colors? into one’s eyes gushing. Tears were in fact shed after all. The artworks regarding mother’s flower arrangement (as here painted) of sufficient forget-me-nots small ones in plastic pots probably from Wal-Mart overdone shake not at all who could possibly? too many flowers surround you never! just a touch of the forearm in summer please PLEASE mis-matching the content & the sad instrumental does what for the form but the lyrics of the instrument singing just down the hill and around the bend these eyes once eyed a sitar inside a window and drums and cartons of more smokes. Endearing. One read laundry near that window down the hall underground in the room where one washed one’s eyes in the hot water but not because of chemicals. Down the hill, just past the running creek, around the bend where the ghosts of married men mingle and share coffee, old stories, triumphs and defeats, feasts mostly, mostly triumphs. Eyeing that eye for that second near the art then standing alone outside and shutting, shutting melody one must sing one’s poems instruments soothing them into a polished surface now another singer song symbol drum & symbol & low-tone symbol memory surely a minor subject his fish pirate's daughter he hears hates him alas of an autumn lover where palms press probably near the library cue lightshard Eating free cheese and drinking free wine hot out of a bucket. Piglets of eyes feasted jetting from cloud sleeping in a dream & dreamt-of travel to woods at some time though they saw & see ocean from the deck before unlocking door kisses red cheek as she slept also when she brushed her teeth a thousand contacts pretty unpatched eye not anything not a song a formlack from motions to the desk to the fire to the bed to shit to the bed to the fire to the book to autumn the bed the fire one looks eats plastics digs all chain fences autumns immediately presence of harmonica a steady slowness a dirty comic thrusting positions a photo saved in no particular key in squared format no doubt concerns for coloration red vein lightstreaks indoors autumn summer here for minors or adults or cats or any, anything
There my eye eyes my eye there eyeing my good eye. That’s me there. That’s me mostly older now eyeing my good eye there. Never rode the seven then, not even when seven now that eye never seems to flash as that eye once when seven. That eye has sandcrusts in its lashes, my lashes. That eye winks slow as moths of snow drift to twirls down the bottom of the hillside. That eye has snowcrusts. That eye caught that eye standing inside the gallery and that eye saw mine and our eyes held just for a second springtime planets. That eye tended down. Not nearly down say as the bottom of the hill. But that eye caught for long enough to catch that.
song doesn’t speak to him now too late married to the high seas doesn’t know whom he met drunk & wasted on the whaleroad convinced & forgotten (so he sings) existing to . . . no that image in a minor for autumn lover descends planksteps mailboxes slips on ice & caught her in his arms laughing mostly because pride hurt her most green light upon ocean flashing meaning signal to something
greenflick stop
greenflick greenflicker stop
greenflick stop greenflicker
A tinkle of eyeballs. Intertwining of eyebells. Jingles of that flash of eye contact. Up there down near the library. Watercolors mostly roping groped eyes. That eye there tasted something soothing insatiate. A piggy of an eye like a puppy. These eyes walked down the hill down the sidewalk in the rainhaze and the golfballs of a puggle nearly jiggled out their sockets. Down the hill’s where the art’s at. As if these eyes signed songs as signatures into an eye flashed. Flashed like oysters and now the eye withdraws into a pocket of skin flesh fleshed pink as skynight unzipping. That eye, that eye
counting measures for her hair to wrap fingers not to strangle her brownly rhythm (it’s all rhythm) but to love her autumn beats for that still slower still but bleached hair at that in her auburn eyes in an autumn & not a major content of lyrics matching form of musical content of music formed of lyrics like an organ like a lung like another one or two below the belt aargh like a bell or a cake as one in autumn like a cake or a bell or a tin container closes door to where a ride full sails in the rain cigarettes before & during free Chinese creekside portside under a porch rain pouring into the bubbled creekrush swishfast hardly hears images exchanged on floor’s mat as bed & a window propped with a horseshoe or a doorknob or a rusty hook or some device & paintings by Amos of blue heads pointed toward the same sea see!
No even once when seven did the eye weaken save when focused deeply upon mostly hardlines as in say a tetherball pole or the game’s stringrope. The ball hardly. Handke wrote not to follow the ball as Bloch. Well who could argue with that? That rain channeled down brown near the walk walked hilldown to the artwork and said intertwined glances. That rain channeled down to a pool of cess resembling that eye’s iris.
paints a poem that he sent back too & the songs sensed at the tribal house sitting in front of her & mother beavers shaped from trees flashing ring of some gummy substance they eat Chinese for free she drives her mother’s car with salmon boxed in the back after paying the post because he has no money throws hat at her sitting waiting secret meetings of pac-man & arm wrasslin more moon the eye walk to the house uphill extinguishes smoke reverse-ly nearing police station keeps cig pocketed begs to press bodies against the cruiser & negated uphill apartments turn sidewalk cars to mother’s
This eye vilifies an untouched insignificance. Twinkle godammnit. Twinkle globes!
an embrace! that mattered for the entire earth in autumn Alaska! that did
Seven travels to a place this eye perhaps has not seen. This eye smells baby carrots unwrapped. Moths of snowdrift to twirls whirl in sodium. That prostitute offered to suck these eyes clean of mucus and miscellaneous fluid. Endearing. Not that one is better than that especially as the corpulent moon shines an eye itself vacuumed. Smacking eyes with that cheese eye as the rain dogs down. The unpatched via the patched as sensed once twice or more that day in April when no snow snowed still snowed and salmon spawned not just yet but the humidity hot as anything and sure the way home uphill sure walked like a sin when one gathered one’s wits in one’s guts at the top breath pounding a nuisance upon entrance and the sea still. No snow snowed but one felt snow at the bottoms of one’s toe’s tips and all around edges slicing itching but the sea remained the same as one eyed the islands across the way there and the floats flashing as they flashed not entirely unlike oysters as noted earlier for righteous sake. Humiliating hardly. Written in a book regarding Bloch who played ball sure enough and knew the ball enough not to look at the ball. Eye the goalie from what this eye all took in something like two or three years ago. Rain, rain, rain. Took that in and symbols too printed as fences and horses and all this for some literary
dug that gave free fish & more reason kept halibut for herself tells the girl about that as she reads the book about monkeys on the way to the market for some meat this no longer being autumn form & content not minor drift who doesn’t like monkeys really apes one hadn’t read that to Signed song signatures those eyes did and hung these as upon a scaffold. Laugh lines wrinkle flesh fat below these eyes. Those eyes closed as one entered the other first widening then relaxing and oozing inside an unexpected grimace mother reads as an impression not a form self-sufficient symbol and how is union beautiful why union beutifies symmetry a colorless blue Euclid shape . . . rather Cartesian coordinates about 4:30, 5:00 in the afternoon summertime overdid the flowers? question hardly remembered. Forget-me-nots in piled pots upon pots. & she shone then as she shines still pirated memory like a sin walking back up that concrete hill past the cops where one extinguished a cig upside-down flashing fireflies What of those colors? into one’s eyes gushing. Tears were in fact shed after all. The artworks regarding mother’s flower arrangement (as here painted) of sufficient forget-me-nots small ones in plastic pots probably from Wal-Mart overdone shake not at all who could possibly? too many flowers surround you never! just a touch of the forearm in summer please PLEASE mis-matching the content & the sad instrumental does what for the form but the lyrics of the instrument singing just down the hill and around the bend these eyes once eyed a sitar inside a window and drums and cartons of more smokes. Endearing. One read laundry near that window down the hall underground in the room where one washed one’s eyes in the hot water but not because of chemicals. Down the hill, just past the running creek, around the bend where the ghosts of married men mingle and share coffee, old stories, triumphs and defeats, feasts mostly, mostly triumphs. Eyeing that eye for that second near the art then standing alone outside and shutting, shutting melody one must sing one’s poems instruments soothing them into a polished surface now another singer song symbol drum & symbol & low-tone symbol memory surely a minor subject his fish pirate's daughter he hears hates him alas of an autumn lover where palms press probably near the library cue lightshard Eating free cheese and drinking free wine hot out of a bucket. Piglets of eyes feasted jetting from cloud sleeping in a dream & dreamt-of travel to woods at some time though they saw & see ocean from the deck before unlocking door kisses red cheek as she slept also when she brushed her teeth a thousand contacts pretty unpatched eye not anything not a song a formlack from motions to the desk to the fire to the bed to shit to the bed to the fire to the book to autumn the bed the fire one looks eats plastics digs all chain fences autumns immediately presence of harmonica a steady slowness a dirty comic thrusting positions a photo saved in no particular key in squared format no doubt concerns for coloration red vein lightstreaks indoors autumn summer here for minors or adults or cats or any, anything
