FCF 78

Gonna
go for
a long, long,

long,
long, long,
long, long, long,

long,
long, long,
long, long … drive

Take you down
to a town called Paradise

Gonna drink that wine

Gonna jump for joy

… in a town called … Paradise

until
we get
that, until we

get
that, until
we get that,

until
we get
that, until we

get
that, until
we get that,

get
that, get
that, get that,

get
that, get
that, get that,

get
that, get
that, get that

get
that love
that loves to

love
the loves
to love the

love
that love
to love the

love
that loves
to love because

what
the fuck
else is there?

Wheelbarrows
full of
dead grammar. Lungs

increasingly
contaminated. Deep
pools of vowels

opening
under internal
pressure. There might

be
a festoon
with which to

salve –
an analogy
or something – but

right
now I’d
rather live in

a
slightly weirded-
out state of

willed/
unwilled negative
capability. The subject

is
apprehensive but
the symptom … that’s

another
story. A
feather is imperturbable.

The
dog barked
29 times at

nothing
last night,
hit it right

on
the head.
Everyone must sleep

in
the cannibal’s
mouth and tell

what
the silence
is. I’ve been

trying
not to
mention my mother’s

death
and/or
the upsurge in

Eurofascism.
If we
turn around we

forget
four words,
three of them

hallucinations,
the last
another kind of

happiness,
uncomfortable but
we look warmly

upon
it. O settlers!
O American Xtian

Taliban!
O $40,000,000
cut and 15%

layoffs!
O bursitis,
gall bladder, fibromyalgia!

Politics gets wider as one gets older. I was learning a certain geometry. One could base a model for form on a crystal or the lungs. Sway is built into skyscrapers. Carefully I have cruised the aisles, wisely selecting – and now I own my groceries. The settling-in that we’re describing is a preliminary to being blown up.

160/206

mysterious
             meaning
deep
& solitary

161/205

thus we love
              just with

leaving all things

162/204

ought to dust;
              aught, too,
dust; ought,
again

[This
gets me
through today, tomorrow,

Wednesday …]
the days
of my dumb-

ass
so-called
suffering. The surf is organized, yet tired slate that works for everyone. So shoot me, velvety in texture or wreathed in my sheets as an archaic citizen it seems like a formalized accident that I was once an archaic citizen but am now embarked on an internship whose unavoidable pornography was the best anecdote in natural settings built of terms like ludicrous or fearful or trampled or I Feel Like Theorizing or as if the it that was I the it were and then we laugh so hard and so long we think we will die laughing and lose our minds and by the time we can conceive of stopping laughing we are moaning from so much laughing, we begin throwing things about the house in such a way, if anybody sees us, they’d think we’re lunatics.

I’m
proud of
whoever wrote

all
that on
my identity card.

To
laugh reminds
me who “I”

wasisam.

Blessed are those
who break off from separateness

theirs is
something to the effect of “venturing forth into the great perhaps”,

[Note: 10th anniversary of my mother’s death. For Carolyn Morris. Sources: Van Morrison, “Common One”, “Madame George”, on Astral Weeks Live at the Hollywood Bowl; Ian Davidson, Harsh, “III”, “VII”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Susan Wheeler, “White Exiles”, in American Hybrid (eds. Cole Swensen and David St John); JBR email to Geof Huth, 8 Jun 09; David Antin, “10th separation meditation”, “13th separation meditation”, in Selected Poems: 1963-1973; JBR, “Dear Boy II”, in Under The Miracle Bridge Flows The Sand; Jen Currin, “Walking the Ox”, in Hagiography; Lyn Hejinian, My Life; Geof Huth, “160/206”, 161/205”, 162/204”, in Longfellow Memoranda; Bernadette Mayer, “Concluding Unscientific Postscript”, Utopia, in The Bernadette Mayer Reader; Gil Ott, “Story….”, “Congruence and Plenitude”, in Public Domain; Lisa Robertson, The Apothecary; Robert Sheppard, “Empty Diaries 1943-1945”, “The End of the Twentieth Century: a Text for Readers and Writers”, in Complete Twentieth Century Blues; Jean Valentine, “The Harrowing”, in Little Boat; Cecelia Belle, “Dear Friends”, at Remembering David, 7 Jun 09]

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