Condition Interruptus
Falls like snow on the silent evening home where when
Faced with the view of all possible actions we avert our eyes or
do not choose an expression to read in
all that misspent money or retrospect chose not
choice with our proximity constraint now broken
remains our interruption
pulled for scrap
value now highlighted now thrust
into away the center from stage
strange grammar
the days feeling the
height of falling the land appears just the best AbEx you ever saw
but it tells of none smaller
the material of your day s was how and
the refractions of light inside these walls of

falling            from
higher than the birds to land soft in
this breast on this day
 “I have to get out of this”
the result not conclusion
sending it back out in refractions
(never) changes
it self is under where the action
is not sleeping but not moving being
but not opens to
gather the strands
yanking them from the throat
down to the guts
‘it’ becomes relationship and ‘we’
becomes just becomes
some becalmed story
put to sleep
never more lovely than
more lonely
then more lovely


material generating generating material couture
empirical excise cannot fight
runs without thinking
come on un
zip no lip
synching professionalism and pomp
other p words fit
my platform haven’t you noticed
we’re absolutely in it there’s no
question the man sweetie wasn’t
trying to scar you drunk
he's just and doesn’t know
this child is over
there by the pile of hammers Daddy
shouldn’t yell so maybe
 that’s not true
You make words with
your big hammer:
Human services human. Etc.
Over and again story
of my life mine
the be/st  (a)
       lets do property hop
        a train lets you go

I n t e r r o g a t i o n

smoke scrambled a picture ascension hung over the line between new form and notes a not sufficiently developed distanced ironic mysticism this theory is a toy-child whose body isn’t even anymore people want pizzazz and pizza want to read with a drunk on a tear slips down the face of the statue of nobody doing the busy busy doing the popular activity hereby reproached simply by mention what the intention are you thinking you think you are writing
you look off into the sky while typing the words is there any beer in the fridge for a potbellied narcissist who sweats pages of proto-narration congealed into this gloop of a sauce but a casserole won’t wait just serve it
that’s your pitch whose talking stop butting in that’s final she’s walking fuck this fuck that revenge must be hot you have to get revenge fresh from the market that morning

now we can’t get back in the garden of forking paths the walls are made of fog the rocket ship made of logs somewhere somebody please she can’t reach her arms are that small and then we abandoned the she voice to find animals in the sky very worthwhile and logical they make a lot of a sense totally whose brain said that to a dog and a fly at the same time both replied you’ve got to be kidding but they rsvp’d regardless sometimes you have to play the game SHE was in the broom closet drunk on vitamin water and you were enchanting in your hoop skirt