Writing

Hello,

This is a poem, which is basically at the level of a free write. However, I am trying not to think of that detrimentally. In fact, quite the opposite. My method of writing, as much as there is one, has recently been concerned with operating according to a logic and a validity that draws its power from the fact of being a voice/voices speaking and the ways in which speaking occurs. Thus, even if this piece were to be more fully edited it would still be called a free write and it be comprised of many little mini-movements within the larger work. These movements are sometimes not connected directly, sometimes they are not connected at all beyond the fact they are spoken things. This spoken connection is actually very large and very important and it is my contention that there is no poetry which does not employ voice and speaking in terms of its content. This may actually apply to all writing, however banal. The voice is grammatical and anti-grammatical. Voice and words go together. When do they not? How can they not? Is there any writing that has no voice?

Thus, this piece,

FREE WRITE, LEHIGHTON, JAN. 16th '10



Football
like poetry; prestige
game:
either moving up or...

Here
good
enough
to begin,
first off,
the beginning;
crowded with impressions,
vying for position.

But not to be silly
and to focus
and choose,
as it were, arbitrarily,
yes, arbitrarily:.

Writing's rush, a castigation:
earnestness covering a lazy lack.
Picking sentences at random
to display in their absurdity
a larger absurdity,
a meta-contextual perceptual Shift
that vaults out to swallow
you as well as the concept.

.:.:.:.:.

"An amount in this box means
the fishing boat operator considers you
self-employed."

Thank you, No.
Unless you mean medicine labels
I don't much care for poetry.

Brother falls asleep,
the old leather folder slips off its shelf.
And the circle recurs,
resumes, falls
back to desultory dreaming

with whisky,
days of video games
and the media circus
cannot obfuscate the Haitian tragedy;
a recent one in an age of many,

hush baby,
you're acting weird in front of your family.
No.
Only,
don't indulge depression. Declaim
but do not neither deride or approve.
Covet
not. Allow
for blessedness
and profession,
profuse period of remembrance,
of your self as many
lives. As humans
swim and break,
moving like fish
thinking like cancer.

:.:.:.:

A grimy grouch stuffs a pepper truck,
jokes fart out. Suddenly, the voice
recieves new instructions:

to move about the stage, with freedom
on the brain, magnanimity and humble
performance; to have no expectation
of purpose mask purpose
and therefrom delight and empathy,
but with force!
degree of tension
opens the plane
to humor;
the neutral you able to project clear as water.

Muddied with fear,
but if by design,
as if in character,
what then, revealed?
A hidden valuation,
a pre-planted castigation
switching on and off
swinging on a long wire,
the bare bulb
hovers over the jumping man
pulling on a tight dress.