Tag Archives: nature

89: coma, interlude 18

Oddly enough I could not remember anything else than the most elementary facts of my life. interlude I saw two small wasps having sexual intercourse on my balcony wall, one on the top the other beneath the one on top wriggling over the one on the bottom, who also wriggled in a strange small, energetic […]

51: coma in cantos, interlude 3

interlude one measure of knowledge is to assert that if a stone is a false stone, Eduardo will judge it a false stone, or: perhaps the stone is a whale and the whale is a false whale, and thus, appropriately, whale, stone, or whalestone, all three being false, Eduardo will come and say: It’s a […]

34: the day I turned into a snake with hair

Today I became a snake with hair, in a such a state we must wonder about sleep and figures, hair, for example, as I rise from a hole and confront the day. Sure, when they saw me there was wonder, but I had to wonder also, speaking of appearances, about their own hair, their own […]

33: variations on form, part 3

Steve (approaching): You? Matt (relieved at the interruption): I’m departing for . . . Mdala: Another coffee, thank you. Anne (enters): Matt. Mdala. You? Mdala: Thank you. And two white butterflies break or mangle the heavier air beneath the trees, above the grass, soundless, rising, now falling, slapping with their wings Steve brings coffee. Anne: […]

27: my old dog’s face

my dog’s old face follows me to the place he’s buried under the white pine in the back of the house and I kneel and wonder who has visited other than the squirrels, slugs, and deer here where everything important happens I imagine what that old dog’s face must be thinking will I have to […]

26: these monkeys that appeared one day

It was on a Wednesday when I woke up early and found monkeys on my arms, small monkeys with red, yellow, and white faces, and black eyes and little furry throats rabid with chatter and fingers not much thicker and longer than the individual letters of printed words. The cashier asked me what was making […]

24: the poem I wanted to write, part 3

the poem I wanted to write drew a tree, a mountain, ice, and a man who might have been my brother but he was really watching the river rise and the clang of the anchors– he watches the anchors rise and how the water sworls muddy brown in the center, as if the fish below […]

22: a conversation with Luke on the matter of lilies

my dialogue with Luke was a strange one somewhat disconcerting. It was at the coffee shop where he addressed me with a cup in his hand, a book in the other, about which, he said, he regretted what he’d once written and now couldn’t take back as it’s the nature and weakness of books, as […]

16: image for a calm Sunday morning

and here is now where they stand with their fruit plates, meats, smiles, other comforts and casseroles while behind me and behind them the world is a disheveled poem yes here is where they stand on the door I used to open the hard matter of the walls somewhere maybe in Alabama, Texas carried in […]

12: the amazing jellyfish

This I just couldn’t resist.

11: Maricela, Cruz, and a conversation about eyes

it is strange to me she said that they always look at our eyes the cat the dog how they know you have them she said even ants he said when they stop where they’re going where ever it is and you know they understand you have eyes and that’s where they find you she […]

10: eating raisins outside Panama City

if I eat another raisin I’ll burst as the clouds rolled in slowly to the east of Panama City electric blueberries bursting on the fringes and what we took for booms might have been house walls crumbling around the perfectly good plumbing it was silly to watch her eat raisins and say things like if […]

8. the seagull

it had to be illusion something, as they say, attributable to the weirding weather Texas drought or some asofyettobe-calculated algorithm of formal space a discoloration, a warp of natural fabrics, nitrogen and oxygen Aprilfooling in May but in a window square of gray Saturday sky a crack or hole emerged opened wider and wider with […]

7: how heavy am I, I ask

birds and water are drawn from lines say from a lookout in the desert where the smoke still can be seen rising, see it as lines you can dig for fish bones in the sand and find them fully dressed and sharp hot as the bottom of a furnace and wonder where it should follow […]

5: it . . . tears pleasantly at my skin

until the storm hit and our hands parted remembering how I used to think about the boy who posted his Ciudad Juarez sister nearby the car saying “five dollars American” and we thought about it and wondered if the boy would watch now it’s something quaint in the hard wind as a break of siding […]