Joyce Cary Carey Joyce

Spliced the eye

Sees still as two 

So they say

The open has begun

Three (A pittance in the shade)

(Like a sienese above his station 

we had foresworn our migration

off or into night)

Silent and without fear, and here, the good, 

the air field, muskets, beans shuck whole

A pit The pit that

makes a wife she and her her 

the children seven years behind an

adorable of twenty, to pocket slip &

take them with me especially eldest camille of el less

spelling off the coffee cup she tells me

For distinction

So secure her cottage animation whereas

Francis Ponge I don’t write down as with

Turbyfill or Bonnefoy my eyesight going

All thoughts going

At this late age, 

best forget it

Ganesh

Some small rumble (does the tail rattle?) at the roof, the tongue. I am my own confusions. I own my confusions. I am allowed to be wayshowed. To.

a kaleidoscope of convention

While you were speaking we were busy pecking our nests

No, we were speaking and you, whittling dumb thumbs

Allow my heart to rest

Humidity depriving the nation of its scansion

to verse the bleary anew,

what James Hillman calls 

in the March for Cash

the loser class therapists are 

left to contend with

On a night of future upset 

(in approach of its suggestion)

I meet a woman who says she is an absurdist painter

I like things that hail from other things 

I tell her this

'Hail' here a paraphrase of the post, made relevant by proximity to discussions of its literal manifest

Since passed

In Venice and Colorado, or Colorado in Venice, Max and his paving stones

For I think of colonnades dangerously often

Dangerous in their 'mystery', their impossible shade

words of the hour

year or century

jm basquiat

Adducing the miraculous, a fire forded, Lancelot in bed unnamed oh, oh 

A year of the inexplicable, the unexplained

Collegial

Close to the essence of what is

The door rang and answered 

No shoulder looking bells the audial speechifying over signal that is, seemingly, to outwards seek to intimate by indication how boring this I don’t wish to do it no more never will I again slowly breadcrumb my way into presence here to show any party what of I am made I am truly

Natural of the light borne truth

a made woman as in maiden of light made unto myself this whisper enough a pah to soothe the path ahead 

A Judgement

They said, in my father's studies, that when the voice came down and cried out, one man for one woman, it was first written all men for all women, and in practice, no men for no women, and then some men for certain women, and in this garbling a great silence, til person, singly, arose and acted.