bird song

and dread.
a memory?

as little green

the heater is warming.
or it is not.
maro is here.
or is not.

sunday

...the great catastrophe
the day is like wide water, without sound (Wallace Stevens).

I attend to my work and I love it.
but today the languor of composition disheartens.
The day has affected me - its face is deepening dark (Cavafy).

there's something in a Sunday
makes a body feel alone- (Kris Kristofferson - Johnny Cash).

sunday is sposed to be the day - for kickin off your shoes
so how come that's the day-- I always get the blues.
and I can't seem to make it through Sunday-- (Lucinda Williams).

I like cream in my coffee. I like to sleep late on Sunday.
and nobody knows me - like my baby.
I like cream in my coffee, and I hate to be alone on Sunday-
and nobody knows me like my baby (Lyle Lovett).

source

you're reading a book and you make some notes in the margin -- you say things similar, more or less of your own. this goes on for days.
one day, you open the book to a new page and there in the book's text are sentences that you have written. before, already. or not? maybe, it must be, you had already read this page and then you wrote it down. no. the footnote in the book's text credits you.
these are the sentences you wrote in the margins. flip back and see.

*this goes on for days - echoing menagerie of course

beginnings

these things never happened and are always.

calasso, echo after echo. dlww 1/15.

for all that

_
It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends.
Didion: Goodbye to-


We remember our own lives, Schopenhauer wrote somewhere, a little better than we do a novel we once read.

Platform by MICHEL HOUELLEBECQ on Page 130

On se souvient de sa propre vie, écrit Schopenhauer, un peu plus que d'un roman qu'on aurait lu par le passé. Oui, c'est cela : un peu plus seulement.
Yes, there it is: a little more only.
not That's about right: a little, no more.

road

rules are, there ain't no rules.
it's to the second bridge and back and whoever makes it first, wins.

though as for that the passing there
had worn them really about the same.

Baruchito

___________

oh no. bye baby.
.

soundtrack

_
if two people meet
as on a sunny street
bodies upon feet

what's the background beat?

again

play it one more time Samuel.
I'm okay with it if you don't mind.

let it ride

Oh lord, I wasn't ready to go
I'm never ready to go
Let it ride Let it ride easy down the road

Ryan Adams, singing tonite on Austin City Limits (remember: 8pm Friday PBS 20) and get Cold Roses - only $12 double disc from Lost Highways last spring.

az rvw: Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Wilco, Wiskeytown, Bright Eyes, and Ryan Adams. I have to hand it to these wonderful artists who choose to undertake the very difficult task of adding to the Folk/Country landscape of the American sound. It's hard to create a song that sounds fresh yet familiar at the same time. this one is familiar, as I love.

alice

Pay no attention to Alice, she's drunk all the time...
-lyrics by Tom T Hall

favor

so I have a favorite-
singer tvz
poet tse
television character lg
favorite lg-my littlegreen.
and, I suppose, songfastcar citychicago.

own critic

a poetry of little words. this. that. my. you.

what is getting you so down

dad thinking, not dissuaded, that that must have been a loss. the loss. but it feels, and maybe this does not mean it was not, but it feels, it does, like what I look for, like when I feel better. 'the moment of connection' ( is it an "intervention" when you speak?) -- the girl lying with the goose, menagerie, all of creation offended -all of creation responding- in this distress. the keening of the moon, sometimes, rising. it means this: this miracle among the animals.

mc with his 'what would it mean to...?' to have your formative moment, identification, your formation, be this. it means that I am saying, to Jaime, that I want my government to have in mind the moment when we crawl from the rubble, look around, come together, say: what now.

loss. but when this is that which, if lost, would leave me inconsolable. alone, not understanding that anyone is there or will return, then shall we not call that the loss and find another word for this.

she would be waiting

She had an air of seeming to wait, as if for a man to get through with something more important than herself, a battle or an operation, during which he must not be hurried or interfered with. When the man had finished she would be waiting, without fret or impatience, somewhere on a highstool, turning the pages of a newspaper.

Mrs. Speers was fresh in appearance but she was tired; death beds make people tired indeed and she had watched beside a couple.

FSF Tender is Night

forge

what's that word, I forget sometimes

repose

_____

that's what I wanted to tell you.

all the things you could say, you're saying this.
"with all the fish in the sea?" "not like her."

these are what I am thinking when I am at the window. when I wake up. when I brush my teeth.
my mind returning home, says i'm so sorry.

"I want to know things."

why didn't you tell me sooner?

I just wanted to hear you say it.

-so you're not angry? - I'm not done yet -shhh... -just let me get my mind around this. -what is that--that metaphor? -don't do this. -I'm sorry.

I miss you. I'm looking out the window, this is the voice in my head.
To me these are the only real things in the world.

inconsolable 2

all the silver in the kitchen would someday be Carol's and if my mother wanted it more than everything, if she picked the first star in the sky every night of her life and wished, she still could not have it, ever.
p.128 my copy Anywhere but Here

that is not what I meant, at all.
(she still could not have it, ever.)

and if I went to the gym everyday, and I ran and I swam, and I ate no sweets, I still would not have another body. I'd still have this body, this deformity.

Frog Hospital on Page 32: ... for the love that as children they had desired so, sought so, distorted themselves so to get but never got. I once rode eighty blocks with a cabbie who kept saying over and over, "And he never hugged me, and he never kissed me," until by Eighth Street he was weeping and I had to get out. It was unbearable.
on Page 130: ...It is unacceptable, all the stunned and anzious missing a person is asked to endure in life. It is not to be endured, not really.

inconsolable 1

...a little boy of two sobbing his heart out, leaning with his face against a screen door of his house. or behind a curtain or a tree; or lying face down on the floor. in our nursery school years ago, a little boy hid in the empty fireplace, unreachable, broken-hearted, his first day away from his mother--two years old, not understanding that she would return.