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from The Lost Weekend
after Sherrie LevineHand at the End of an Arm Pre- and post- set-up for out-of-stock clichés back ordered off stage, acts I IV and V having long become some sitcom in repeats. Pre- given the given follows what had had what foments a coup d’etat a coup d’etre enthrones itself as ground for the para- Socratic state […]
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Familiars
A pulchritude holds a lute of unfired clay; wavering gouges indicate strings. From a marble paddock bronze Chiron preaches to the aloes, to the venerable root-bound jade. On the screen saver three favorite Hentai stills of violation. On the wall the second wife on her first wedding day; the first mother-in-law Reading Pooh to her […]
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from The Lost Weekend
after Sherrie LevineArm Extended through the Legs (of A) As a radio tower amuses the Martians I-beam down For the drum thrown down a well Cacophony of plunging ground Through the labyrinth of the ear A nevertheless drum resonates At the bottom end of the radio dial Where the scored rests deaden air Above the aped apex […]
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Susan Sontag Has Died
Time — over time the body slips away — nothing is ever what it is supposed to be, illness as metaphor. As if without fanfare, slowly, in increments, we lose the ones we love. And we lose ourselves. Death, with the softest of hellos, an old friend we have never met, drops by one day […]
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from The Lost Weekend
after Sherrie LevineBar Stool Upside Down on a Bar Memorial crushed fulcrum unhinged jamb Roman numeral for if you seek a wonderland Memoriam impaled discus unthrowable indwelling legs sans feet to say nothing in shoes Memento to a dead soldier ant and Don King’s kinky Afro Memorandum punched out, a time card charts a circuit of a […]
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This Was Said over Not Coffee, Not Cigarette, Not Dinner, Not…
* ME: Your hair wet, & your church As natural to the landscape as human dung. Since dinosaurs, but more immune to ice-age & other primordial editors of yore. But then you saw a church built here. At 1 st : stakes, string, skeletal-blobs of outlines ambiguous as shadow or fetus. Then : basement, frame, skin, sound — the […]
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Listening to Ache
A good gnashing of verbs grinds sparks from stale music. Wind-crushed melodies deserve a crushed fate being hollow. The song , I’m afraid, is an old one. But how old can the numeral 1 be? I don’t know. * Dust its airborne disease with sharpest incisors. Music ologists assess an aria by its fingerprints by […]
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Monet’s Garden Giverny, 20 August 2005
The lily’s charm is not its colors but how it floats, as if free, upon the pond’s dark surface. We make our way over his wooden bridge and then pass the shrubs and flowers he planted, arranged just so to paint. How carefully the pigment would be placed, how gradually the world — its daily […]
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Sentences
You want so much to know when knowing is nothing, when you are the one I least know. You want a name. You want a word, and with that, the word returning to cancel nothing I know.