Non-exclusive, because it's not a mandatory thing for me. I'm just saying it's one thing I like sometimes. It's probably not truly effortless, but there is a quality of apparent effortlessness that exists, which I like. What am I thinking of? Ron Padgett, Eileen Myles, Tim Dlugos, sure. But there's also the effortlessness of nonsense, of saying any old thing that comes into your mind, like with Wallace Stevens and John Ashbery and Gertrude Stein and Clark Coolidge. Even though their stuff is very complex, you don't feel like they're trying to make sense. It's nice. It's still not as easy as it looks, I've realized the hard way. Here's a Clark Coolidge poem from Odes of Roba:
Hung out to drain what ties
made sure of his matchless backing
the color alarming, twinkle of Joplin
arrival leveling, the hard arm a verb
astute and laid down the ampule, the aim
of the stool inaccurate, official
as fish in the room
It was Song Day, Jerome unavailing
going as wrapped in papers, strong
then all this thing in belt, tapped
and paid up, a roofing lesson tint
with klaxon and cold
And she moves, and the room holds rule
Anyway, again, this isn't to say that I only like these styles. I like seemingly "effortful" poetry too. I mean, poetry that sounds like it was hard to write, like a lot of Frank O'Hara's stuff. Or 19th-century poetry. I appreciate it at more of a distance, rather than wanting to do it myself, since I know I'm not able to write like that. I mean, I don't mean to say that I think I can write as well as the other people I mentioned above, like Coolidge, just that I can more easily fool myself into thinking that I can. And that's how I write poetry.
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As funnel as that is, to be entered into a contour, Looking for work in the mosaic. Brightly a wide gadget Organized, cried out for. Been long, sidetracked, open Dormitory poltergeist. Who brought the downpours in. Said to wait, included elsewhere. Sometimes When I. And brought into the open. Lilt strictures in To there. For a while we sat and waited with hauls on. Also the frisson hummed. The Thoroughfare that Harmed Pittsburgh. Growing up, yes it. From behind you can a Primula likelihood shank short. Skipped a love. Fed to the when I. See the vanity runabout before you, Saw the hookah matriarchy streamers like. A rusk gets to globetrotter, pigpens of mercury Divorce to, breakthrough wishes a snicker. Seven days. A Handbook ham. Planners a wide very torpedo Seance. Credibility sisters as, wrestled twice, Purity. Stomps like locale fascination fitness. In another Deaf-mute, peregrination'd see, machete for lox. As I cramped into the rookery of canard mangle, I still had to pay dues. They were a love This yob to cowpat, and went inside, cure holding. Went away, relieved to be statistician. The collective wine stopped hammering. The idiocy haul ceased looking like Sally. In the witch-hunt came the beginners, the horsewhips Of borrowing and white crotches. Little fiery sprats spoon, Sped along into the nimbus's divider. The other canoe floated and befriended A waterfront. Spoon to a larynx said tonight's the broken strangler. Five or six tines I crept. Quilting is popular. Largely Undetected pinpricks. In the snub was a wide open snowflake, Believe to belong, and then it was that. To which that is. Sprite among fireball Links, along foreplay links. Predatory needs to womb. The bright gave in. Settling up and over the high roasting the tracker. Soon to be too late in rowlock partnerships, Save for the bodily rotation. It was kept in the auditor, Behind political pros. They are as one, to another, Began again. Here is stopping, tread to. Writing all Seems with to become legislator. There's harelip groaning, A little spree. Tresses humiliation the cobra, Following bulkheads the fuel. The rambles siding with. Our beaker is the peripheral mane. In a mischief-maker, In a mischief-maker. Yelling like yeah like. In cassette there are overcoats, be relieved That there are not. Too many inside, bring the kidnapper. Believe in cummerbunds. Probably to eat pigment is the gobbler. There are too many wise cramps. There are not enough lank stigmas. Bring 'em on. Tomorrow calliper exists In many fortunes throughout the bodega. Plodder seekers take on. Right now I'm attacking a shutdown. It's lumberjack. In this we are agreed. Putting thoroughfares on Leaves, sprouts attire. But I did always lumberjack economics it raw And dry as a kilowatt. Was something missing there. Yeah. Three oblongs. Beside the brownstone a hopeful was stuck in a Roman. A hanged mane from the notable. Bidder than. Two peregrinations Couldn't dialect one, anyway, this is, a no, yet not. Today I was slapped Like foundry cop downgrade. It was a bromide student, Hapless sweetheart principal. In tine, and no, find, keeping away For why to be almost. I've heavies, steady. Listening to warm dry Go-slow slides again. Privatisation the whitest stomp, Saving the whelk softwood. Look forward to cranes craved, The spermatozoon of an operator ad hoc. Lenses were had, Likelier than not. Prig evenly sprite, I can't too much, then It was another overhaul sandpit. I paperboys that, to? Dummy said labourer was hot like fourteen other Minder agreeing on the same thoroughfare, I am neither. Pulps formed around us weekday nozzle bidder leads to rumple. The kipper where you know, but it's pointless, And over now. Screwed me bigtime.
Of all the reasons people give for being against meat, the fact that it's a dead animal is the silliest one. Guess what. We're all gonna be dead animals eventually. And if your carcass happens to end up in a place where other carnivorous creatures can get to it, they won't hesitate to make a meal out of you. Sorry to bring bad news, but there it is.
Can you read in your room? Books, I mean? I can't. I can only read away from home. This wasn't always true. Especially at night. I simply cannot read at night at home. When I'm at home at night, I'm looking at a screen. Period. I can't listen to music in my room either, unless I'm also doing something else like dressing or doing stuff online.
The black keys on a piano Late afternoon not even tired Screwed up as a whistle Ordinary as fuck Don't even try I am this close Whenever the clock pretends to expand Into town freezes flies Somewhat nature is being a front Looking out the back Sped off the road Here to keep you company And dress the house It's a numb ploy begged off Crap you deal with I get it
Green and white shards of bucks Tethered to the wind I had Nobody having slept in the yard The ceiling was a mile or two Cold enough at least for shipping Into the bold stripes I am not Took to the streets and came into blood But there was a tried and true method Somebody went crazy trying to undo the porch Like ash in the fountain Winter isn't even a broken face As you imagine it Did I tell you of the buried life you are
Your life is playful The bar is underwater Jumping around like a handful Of bright days they sold Out of the back of a truck Quality was never a story in the making It delved into what were known as specialty ices Crept along until found out years later It was all some kind of ultralight craft Wrapped in a huddle Too soon for bluebonnets Fire probably saved us Though threads remain There are stains in the bathroom I have seen There are questions regarding statues in Amsterdam
Do you dime police in brutish clouds Forwarn the hay I scold for you Night arrives where looks came To you it's what but nothing The highway isn't good Favors crawl into she wants a Tired of war high you kill Olives run triple play Never saw that coming It was fine and granted to be Freedom was into pie Wasn't all that much done with finally Like I even know who that is
Purpose there I said Likely to know any Other people who Are crying today Situated in the Blatant room no More ringing the wind Of the phone drop Senders quip tall spills Am I another true Wrongly paper Vines eventually ply For tread under stones Goes pop traces spies And all you all find Try to divide the West aside from sitting Really careless but What's you confronted Expectations' racket And never ends Likewise into eaves I couldn't have bed then
From a dead stop the balloon rested. A calm was bought At high tide the air said luck was bunted Sectionally the plastered area fog was done twice Into sky, fell along purple ways. Noting the doll Numbered crew some there apples Like I am intermittently Brought before morning see night a Kelvin tree Fingers have woods. The calm went under Seeking to provide, washed fun, the boats. As to be ingrained. Divorce try Been to wheel the no Seen playing a victory mantle talked For looking up the hooked White quarrel eye stretch.
said the lady in the background of a picture I took of a guy smoking on Maiden Lane. I said nothing, walked away. Then I turned around to see if she was looking at me. She immediately lifted her bag to hide her face and scurried away across the street. Darn, I should have said, now I can't sell your picture to TMZ! (A man on Avenue C once expressed suspicion that I worked for TMZ.) Regular people imagining they're celebrities. Gotta love it. Speaking of regular people, check out Bruce Gilden at work. He's sort of a paparazzo for nobodies like you and me:
"Why are men afraid of astrology?" and "Why are some people afraid of Flarf?" are two paraphrased examples from real life of people asking why someone is afraid of something. But why does not liking something or being against something mean you're afraid of it? I'm not a fan of seafood, but that doesn't mean I'm afraid of it. (I mean, I am afraid of most things that live under the sea, but once they're on land and dead I'm no longer afraid.) Another thing is homophobia. This isn't a real "phobia", is it? I mean, I'm pretty sure a homophobe's main emotion is hate, not fear. (Actually, I think "homophobia" really means something more like, for example, a straight guy uncomfortable around other straight guys, such as in a locker room situation, say. The "homo" in "homophobe" isn't "homosexual", it's "same", fear of the same sex, regardless of sexual orientation. But that's another issue. By the way, if anyone thinks this is some kind of defense of homophobes, uh, no. All I'm saying is that their main motivation is hate rather than fear. Which is actually worse.) But anyway, people are always saying things like this, "Why are you afraid, why do you feel threatened", when quite often the dislike is not about fear at all. The dislike might be due to irrational hate and stupidity (in the case of homophobia), or, in the case of astrology, to an opinion, based on a rational, non-fantasy based view of reality, that astrology is just plain baloney.
We lived on earth, we married, we touched each other Carefully, as if it would fall apart Drifting in on the flyway to LaGuardia I moved around the loops and vectors, And down they forgot as up they grew Strenuous ends of clover and daggy sheep— That’s one less test I’ll have to take. Thus entered the world at loggerheads.
So he was dead for the first time Lying in mud? lying caked in mud, hair elfed into knots? We’ll not walk there again. Who’d wish to walk On his tea to cool it. Could it be your poems? The thermos in his lunchbox was perpetually Lost in a pile somewhere; Or perhaps it was for some other reason that I rose above the setting sun.
My tiny boat, with my young playmates round, Might guide the élan of hardier passersby. Seeing the summit pierce the abstract heavens, I see the cherry, flaked and fresh, When slowly (and nobody comes with a light) The sliding shapes to find which place is which Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked. But here I stand, an average-looking man Of the decaying mind. There The chorus sing in a victory ode—What is a nobody? He swam in a puddle.
Don't look for me behind you I wasn't aware of anything Like a second opinion the Composition could use A little rye loaf near the port bow Of the ship bound For the land of sexy accents I have come to develop or declare Depending on the situation No rest for the scary Inevitable bleeder you Are such a success With feet that harm no one And two breasts
"It helps to remember the old adage about doctors - only fifty percent of them graduated in the top fifty percent of their class." --an old adage
Sounds nice but of course it means nothing. "Only fifty percent of NBA players are the 50% best pro basketball players." So does that mean that those in the bottom half are bad at basketball? Even the player with the worst stats in the league is better at basketball than 99.9% of the human population.
So, western medicine is a good thing, is what I'm saying here.
No, I would like to behave well into the afternoon Apparelled in goggles hilariously. Abridgment is capitalized in these valleys To be left without addressing the issue Of all major hits, pans, Some words some head heard. There is probably not a fortress in the clear. Like it or not I have cubicles on My held-together process noise, too Formerly of the outer planets, now only a scar. Besides which it was nothing she'd said Would come undone like tomorrow, Here space is comfort to paddles and balls And quite frankly a net and a table.