Joseph and Tammy

As the spirit moves me

so will I move…

Dreaming of Tammy, Tammy Sincavage

All the things we will do

My name is Joe, Joseph Sincavage.

Tammy’s a cousin, not through blood.

          We go on drives

          through the windy back country

           The sunlight is dappled she

           cooks me

I don’t read the paper, I keep my house neat, I walk late at night, back and forth on the street. Everyone knows me, I have to remember that.

Give me a list of chores and my afternoon is full. Downtown’s half dead.

But I love to go in the stores. Pass my eye over the goods. This is what

is available. I just want know

what is possible. What I can be I must. I’ve

always loved that.

No Stalgia For

See it like this

the morning where the evening

and its tendencies unravel

are relived.

If in this morning--shame

glots the chest--as if no one ever drank--evidence, evidence—

if in this morning there should also be weather

then it’s already over. You’re finished, you morning

if the wind blows

  orange

across the mad rational hulk of your buildings

the non-human context of your beach silence,

coming from nowhere to nowhere

—see, like this

and if not? Still missing Them

things about them times with

their families

-- ah god--

everything gets tossed, it’s the commerce of just

the lowest prices

No stalgia Three

“We don’t even have the land   

 live off?     we’re cut off

So go back home @ night ends and eat a slice of pizza pie

On the couch in the t.v. blue down low

Volume don’t wake parents what is to be done

With the bundle accrued through the day

no system can unify

a mess towards purpose

Layers and contradictions, because

We wouldn’t even want to

We want to be painted

board in a hall wood and dust, maybe

And time

feeling lost time passing with no

Transcendence through art o god juts so bad

Speak to wish clearly, to hew accurate a picture that

Feels it is so there

No stalgia pt. 2

Leave    it is imperative   but

where
and for what and
 also just plain how-- 

  impossible, the questions left behind

the name in a dream and his story

that windy back

porch the semi-shut-in sells dope off

with a just-so laconic pose

Suddenly stands     for everything

Ever  tried  to be said  to be raised

just as quickly

discarded once perspective

shifts even a little

car or a train

window I’m always looking out of

a back mountain

road getting high

No stalgia #1

 Driving down the high spine of the little world,

world that curves still the focus

made body in the proximity of

possible doings never come to pass

an ache that race

that race to where

alway

s lost so palpable lush vegetation

attitude that serves that severs

unity to a value reduction a

value to be extracted, only value

in the use, the passing the taking of

the motion like

not important the quiet town

ies

carpel tunnel stance and quiet rendering thereof leaves

 manifestly apparent

not going to happen not ever

never happen leaves a spacethe leaving

now

only bare/vision

the weight of town little and dirty

wintered and bare lots of

mega stores have cropped all other commerce

Can’t / doesn’t anyone see the ring of over

Walking through streets

in the night trying

to conjure or find

fading unanswered

asking of our question are we 

D I S C O N T I N U E

Discontinue

          

          catalogues record the days

Half discarded way full of blank

     unnamed arise and fall away

They wait are they called on

Space in private intrude not better

Walk this we as if full with arms

We drop socks pick to stoop

And grab ourselves in fits

Comedy sheds

Blunders all the evidence

So sad yes lies in thought

The flood of feel you coming

From the catalogues: a

Spontaneous chaos advocate the of

Improvisational legends made

These thoughts that arise in arbitrary grid

Are pulled away

The color is red, the image: a

Bellows. 

Unknown

Unknown

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

material

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

than