FCF 50

“Wah,”
then, is
water in blindness —.

That
drowsy finger,
charcoaled, And you

is
halfs crazy
say the dunes.

&
there is
no. & yet …

that the sea
devours cliffs
on which we contemplate the value of …
might mean something more than … (what?

Let
thy symmetry
disperse! Like a

Mineko
Grimmer
sound sculpture: pebbles

frozen
in ice.
As the ice

melts

the
pebbles drop
into a pool

or
wooden
lattice …

I made my own version out of things from my junk drawer: marbles, squashed pennies, old keys and dog tags, and some acorns I was saving in a tiny jar. What does it sound like? I won't find out until the weather warms …

The
piano is
playing all the

ifs.
clang clang
clang clang          ya

ya
ya. Dear
Seem dear cast

out.
In. Ay
chinga! We floated

and
it could
be said that

we
floated. Passing
in this unreadable

fashion,
avec-être
stretched toward the

…
… …
… … …

… … …
… …
…

                         & woke dazzled [again] by the torque of the sun

(Heaven and Earth are the box preserving the sutra.)

shards shreds broken tools
cast off political clothing …
the candle & the wax & the ashes
fragments of error/fragments of bone …

to melt [said of a fuse],
to burst [as a tire],
to deposit eggs [said of flies],
to spend money freely,
to forget one’s lines,
to enlarge a photograph,
to brag,
to inhale cocaine,
to vomit,
to bungle,
to crack under pressure,
to squander,
to storm,
to play jazz,
to blow a gasket,
to blow blood,
to blow Z’s,

there
now off
the side of

the
road / there
now runs a

little
possum which
the eagle sees.

I
see the
eagle / dive, its

skirt
snapping at
the air, … the

possum,
teeth bared,
dives under bush

and
the eagle
clangs into the

pavement.
[I think
of Lew Welch’s

“Chicago
Poem”, and
count the chances]

&
yet, if
I could depict

myself
as a
periodic table. To

be
the blinking
light of the

smoke
detector hanging
over this bed.

Imagining
colors outside
the color spectrum.

In
“All I
Wanted Was to

Play
Guitar” I
find I am

a
chimp               sign
my chimp guestbook;

but
then in
“All But Nine”,

what
the fuck
is wrong with

you
people. A
is Vairocana’s root

syllable,
Dharmakaya’s gate.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, aaaaaaaaaaaaa …

In
some language
systems it’s correct

to
say that
Concave is the

opposite
of Convex.
A puck to

the
eye, a
blade to the

throat,
repeated kicks
to the groin.

Vot
em I
doink here / … / am

a
hundred ( “by way of an on-the-fly transliteral morph” ) /
a hundred fifty

different               shadows.

… three pebbles

make a path. the least breeze, though, would
tatter the
wafted strands of
this tenuous syntax …

I
vacuumed the
street. She vacuumed

the
street. He
vacuumed … At all

times
we have
unknown collaborators. giving

us a natural

variety
in sentences.
We know too

well
what we
create; and what

we
participate in
though it washes

us
away bit
by; bit by;

(not unlike how the edit phase works)

(paleotechnics)

[Note: Midway. Sources: JBR, “Autopoiesis CXXXIII”; Eleni Sikelianos, “Sonnets”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Issa, poem written on the death of his daughter; Sam’s friend Ranjit, caption to Instrument-a-day 28: Melt (after Mineko Grimmer); JBR, “Autopoiesis CXXVI”; Alan Baker, TORQUE; Kukai, as quoted in Ryuichi Abé, and Abé himself, The Weaving of Mantra: Kukai and the Construction of Esoteric Buddhist Discourse; Kamau Brathwaite, “Driftword”, in Mother Poem, “Indigone”, in Sun Poem, in Ancestors; Clayton Eshleman, “Matrix, Blower”, in Juniper Fuse; Geraldine Kim, Povel; K Silem Mohammad, “All I Wanted Was to Play Guitar”, “All But Nine”, in Deer Head Nation; Shin Yu Pai, “career ending injuries”, “Concave is the Opposite of Convex”, in Sightings: Selected Works (2000-2005); Jerome Rothenberg, “Cokboy”, in Triptych; John Cayley, riverIsland, as quoted in C T Funkhouser, Prehistoric Digital Poetry: An Archaeology of Forms, 1959-1995; Gustaf Sobin, “Pro Lyrica”, in The Places as Preludes; Hannah Weiner, “World Works”, “Written In”, in Hannah Weiner’s Open House; Michael Farrell, “saints & or notes in the form of sonnets”, in Hilson; Jim Rosenberg, “A Conversation With Jim Rosenberg”, as quoted in Funkhouser; Steve McCaffery, “Voice in Extremis”, as quoted in Funkhouser]

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