Thursday, July 22, 2010

Like Birds In Our Buildings




for He (with one to grow on)


Little flapping

, which line, which

fear of strange

places: : : that text shaped

after the other

and light will speak

for it’self::;the direction

of motion: largo or

titty trash allegro

things not subject to friends.


Reconfirm; this shade

he dropping stitches

night by night

a; formal plain. It was clear

This was go------------>ing

to be special.

It is [[so extremely]]

difficult to not

have identity; like the Indians

would get hurt and not happy.


A little lot of life in this

shallow bowl. To drop it

is unthinkable. Time fills

us up as a checks and

balance; play-acting and

not for real. I do not see

it as erotic. I view it as

absurdity. The birds don’t

sing, they screech in

an attempt to come home.


The male sometimes positions himself this way on purpose.