trees are steaming ever more vital pliant DINK I can’t see a thing in the sky I choose George Stanley over Fear and Trembling Tell why you chose to do this or that on each occasion Nothing with hooves or heels was it? Excuse me for not thumbing the abyss, “the goading urgency of contingent happenings” how stretchy the membrane how drunk the ship breaching the freight we port with however it is I am and come to know the ruby field of feeling and isn’t a life suddenly laid in all its excess of doubt & dualism gag in the mouth I forget to give sense to relations that animate to be carried among them you are not an engineer yet forms persist so topple the column any place there’s a rope there’s the earth is not enough I stick my head in it I lose my coat
And the Sea
Once, I wanted to be Hemingway.
But so did Hemingway. That act is hard—
dumb facts decked out as art, and anyway,
who gets what they want? And then who cares?
What matters when the water at your feet
is running out without you? I grew my beard
and bought a little boat on credit, named
it after myself and painted all of it blue,
then put us out to sea. And when it’s calm
and when the sun is out, we disappear.
We’re gone. What else was I supposed to do?