the appearance

alive. Alive! concretizing, or not. is that how to picture a woman named 'daisy'?

I believed I had a fair understanding of W. G. Sebald until I read his biography and saw the black-and-white snapshot of him as a young man standing thigh-deep in a river, topless in wet jeans with a deep tan, defined muscles, and a dagger in his hand.

Birthday cesaree

Walking out along peninsula the jetty we are the waves great limestone buildings no stucco sta cah toe and water crashing in crashing too strong the water green and stone browning in the sun how bright can you see this is time we tell us and then again then 

la bouche

 again on the full. and again. Ogham. I left lineation to the rest. the eyelid or the other one, the fist 

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