4/27/96

Dot the plenitude. In fact,
transferring the underbelly of native
response tracks a fallow sympathy
far across the waiting expanse to a
plethora of received regrets. Simulating
caring in flower-bedecked continuum
color crosses tonal registers in undisguised
affection. You say affliction, I say
a friction. You say a fiction I say
reflection. You say connection I say
convection. You say suspicion I say
lyric starburst refractions on a
scratchy disk. Holding hands. Hurried
on a windy weekend, dusty on a
sympathetic Saturday. Oh they are
listening- it could have been anything-
a kind of wordy subsitution. Cascades
of clapping cousins scooping seaside
reveries out of criss-crossing web
sites. Lifting belly pressing buttons
unbuttoning dresses dressing keyboards
blaring keystrokes stroking changes
changing selves. Sunstrokes, salves,
sore serenity, serene suburban
sunspots. Covering the outside stresses,
hands subtract a thick slice of
clinging cotton against a slowly
tiring temporally fading set of
orange shadows.

I am curious to see what
comes next. I never understood
how it must return to the recent
poem to further answer a question:
what comes next? Or only
tracking myself tracking myself.
How about making it as blank
as I want?

10 Empty Forms


1. Hidden
2. Removal
3. Burial
4. Unavailable
5. Detached
6. Blank
7. Not functioning
8. Unintelligible
9. Confused
10. Exhausted

1. Placed beneath another unrelated page of writing
the searched-for notes remained unfound.
The facts were unaccountable without
this specific data. There existed
nonetheless a continued idea of the whole.
This idea, which floated just beyond
the grasp of consciousness attempted to attract its
true locale. An icy spark of nothingness
kept igniting bits of light above this unnamed place.

2. Nagging anxiety of nothingness.
What had been taken away? A
very faint shadow of persistent
actualities remain. What is gone
still needs to be described. A reverse
announcement. A disappearance
tells its way to the front. Its
presence is known by a certain
expectation that persists. The
repetition of anticipation makes it
real. This shadowed reality has
color sounds and form. These
consist of wanting. Through
time a movement is constantly
shaped. It is so familiar it is
absent but its escaped qualities
embrace all thoughts like a kind of
temperature. Its departure is
perceived by its component
vectors. If there are words, there
are selves.

3. Unearthing is a task that voids
displays. Letters issue a tangled
hope that plies a force. Try a list.
Announce a course. Trumpet a set
of clues imperatively. The dots that
traced some fingers, then a hand,
when hurriedly applied drowned out
a previously embraced impassioned hierarchy of
convictions. These seeming pointers
eventually only crowded the room
with silhouettes of bungling. These
darkened figures followed certain
inexact instructions.
Replayed more slowly, only doubts
articulate themselves. Like so
many other things, doubts are made of
words. This is an awesome power-
denature a demanding set of rules
with heightened pleasure.Yes, they
all go into the dark but they come
come out laughing like they owned
the world.