Blood in the belly

just rings right this morning. Rain and walking or the thread of each thing as it gets stretched into another day--a mess of crossed strings a person can tangle further. Pay attention with your gut like the president used to and all that happens is wrapped in toilet paper--padded disposal, an army of water droplets, the cat's numb whiskers getting placed back into its formerly live skin, glue and a steadied head. We are not sound here--infirm ranchers. The weather calls us down, calm and then rageful. I am a foreigner, too. In all cases the animals are home, ranging.

catalogue: sore and hoary

all the things gathered round us

all the things we gathered

furniture absent now

i'll scrub the floor

watch you take the walls down

wrap them in protective plastic

our cover a month of rain

for this move

we come clean round the edges

into another city

a certain maintained speed on the highway

the tilted dressing of a set of lives

bangs hard against the back door of the truck

every time the gas pedal gets depressed

I'm gonna miss new york and the people who've made it what it's been for me. Though I expect that they'll still be important parts of my life wherever I am and whenever we're back in proximity to each other it will be like it always has been. Thanks to those of you who came out to the Beer Garden the other night and endless thanks to the few brave souls who helped lug all of our shit out into the truck. You know where to reach me if you ever need extra hands.

Time gets short and Shannon and I will probably be posting things from our summer adventures somewhere. There's a new book out with Flying Guillotine and when the image is posted up on the site I'll make mention of it here. It came out looking pretty sharp, methinks. Anyway, here's wishing a hell of a summer and few impediments to your good living.

glad bags and handstabs

another month, new homing decided

devices plant into the corner for record and the light--say legs do this moronic motion of up-down-up and we grow thick in the thigh, almost herculean in this expanded body.

Ok, so what's really going on is that I'm not in training to become a long distance bicyclist, though I wish I were so this middling expansion would contract. But we did find a new place to reside and we're waiting to hear back on the application. Tomorrow and crossing fingers. No job yet, but that'll settle itself when it does and I'll rest with it.

I'd show pictures but don't want to risk too much showy talk and have it disappear. I want to spend some time on a small boat trying to catch fish. And then building them little houses inside my gut. The news said no striped bass for children and only 4 servings of large bluegill per human adult per year. What did we do without the news?

Here's looking up from the bottom of a bottle: or not--the picture won't load...