i am always here now.

somehow the distended seemed itself
    rightly held, rightly, that’s. think of some
concretes: she’ll enter a room with such
    purpose but for what, am to know never
until the best places meet, a fullness of being
    around which, & swells & swells, am left
a lot in that: & the way the table’s cleaned
    but never without six separate stacks of,
launch yr yawns, material facts: & rat tails
    out the shower, is a cat’s game, a tracing
for which am to crick my stubbling neck: at
    my unthought plumb at being resource,
genuine stabbing at the good. so’s a leak
    to, & this quibbling found in bed, eddied
at schuyler’s ‘morning of…’ with relish &
    just had to perform. would dance barefoot
a berlin-era stomp on shards in a bathroom,
    hardy ones these stumps bear, tapping out
at the barrel’s bottom. done & done. & on.

gonna stop putting poetry here. bad for the process, i find, too eager. but the pen falls (the keyboard stubbed) when i dies. which, with the box under the bed full of the most carping crap & some more pretty & true stuff, &, i think, some recent chats with Grim which give good line endings: am okay.

& am to, regardless of this swinging’s telos,am to take down what’s going on now, which is majesty and terror and above all facking joy, emphasis anterior. so: there.

& on holidays soon. making makings. & must review Grim when henry becomes the focus, after the spell o’ hopkins.

so goodnight to you, rippers x

i am happy to have my drek writtle alongside these charming photographs of kestrels. because “sometimes i wish you and i were an eagle”.

(via birds-of-prey-daily)

Oxbow- Frank’s Frolic.

dear gold ungodly tonic hammered. “& ah
look for the cigarretes but, hey, i don’t
smoke”… a real bruise, and bruised.

dwells in it. though you wouldn’t know, see,
Grim’s on his own in it. says he’ll take a
three year cave courting & claim for
extents; that pends. wait, wait he’s sure
to grizzle, & quick am at mopping his
dribble. feline incisors, & the lad himself
says he’s so incisive but just needs
this time to take to measure it all. rots
him, then, some duration, whilst am
elsewhere, elsewise, trod & dread.
says he’s a book to travel, or obverse,
see, am oft off with his says as opposes
his does. & we were king of does: we
were thinking roughly toward praxis,
and process, and becomings, and, and.
makes me slick, that rattle of his, its
lame hurtle & bumble &, see, am bitter
due to circumstance; not a truer, that.
spills & reels, leaning back to obtuse
degrees & careening off the stool,
in the cave, me at guffawing, split all
lengthways tittering. small thought,
isolation, & am told unnecessary too.

who knew plenitude could do? elapse
itself out, yaaaaawn, grope a given,
my god i said six or sixty times, a
forgetting does its grip. i’m not sad,
not this day. endure the spell, won’t
it be long now. i’m not to think, not
to ruin withruin. i’m not to think.

& “is still devout”. what have you
ever been about, mist? nay, leaves
the door widely, leaves the floor all
scattered with, not itself disarray,
itself offers resistance and a place
from which gravity- “what mean
square error”- has a turn. & the

have’s the gone, is a history, or
the other word. give it… gravitas,
or was leant, or that way lilts, a
chip of sense stumbles a way, of
the roof’s tiling, guess it’s a wren’s
effect. before asked what bird then
was i? and still now is a ponder.

do the tremolo, it a swerve & smirk;
who’d have guessed that that dance
would there occur recur and reoccur,
boy is, little, wakes to a thought’s
sheer reel, collapse then undoubting,
sells: sicken off, dastard act one, keep
the spun all in, do on with the spin.

“this invite, first, & slants to ruin. hangs
a chance to sense, a thrashing dancing plod,
dim it a way, gusts a retch, old harangues
had ways, theirs, with words, tumbled all in sod

& is expect that calm? not named, truant
or deep or troubled. what’s caught spark is of
much reason, was mean & sheer terror, has
it a lunging felt, what of value, extent
plays a point, a faring better, in love
a calloused hand, not seen iron, that’s last.”

“us everyone, at least that’s known, that’s known
is mystery after, am in wanted.
can utmost, tax selves as ugly good here
as around and around & over, thrown
the blast’s merit, the mallet’s tom, lilted
a kissing ethered lisping, a blear

of sight missed, must’ve seen a coming on,
a one would, wont and struggles, merrying
up at the prospect, allied too, far gone
& hankering a theme, raise, cherrying.”

“enjoyable, thrown of, can not never
vault that. that hedged in, tremendous, as was
a carving made. begs some blue, will not as
easily make itself out. deliver
the etch- don’t so sorrow be- loss
lets on, lunges, becomes oddly a has

& with that is glad, glad trace, done as wrong,
that most lonely tense one, a of giving
& of a faint had terrible gone long:
say- bellows it- out cage a rung living.”