This Friday contains

Traintrip, winehangover, MaddogsnEnglishmen, waterinajug, correlationplugging paperweight, missinreadings, carmovement, planthunger, bagoclothing, coffeecomedown, and thisman'sstare:

Bear or other? The wilds of Western PA

Which if you have ever seen Deerhunter, look nothing like that movie.

And here's a baby bear:

And here's something else:

Take your pick...Sasquatch or bear or Olson twin?

Thrush culled, not the whisper of

You have gone on
again into Casa Video
in your pajamas

& forgotten the name
for whatever cassette tape
could have been brought

home. A handful
of popcorn in your teeth
& the desert

screaming its summer
through the streets, lined
white with orange

blossoms. Your
hesitant steps. A hand
full of popcorn

in the breeze & good
titles for what happens
when we all go off

into the sepia-toned
mountains. Our notion
of silence & what

sayings belong to
the self. A lone wire
hanger in a closet

holding a pair of pants
that can't be thrown out
or given away or worn

again. What can you
say to that door hiding it?
Or what can you quit

saying--pass through
me, too? The moon hung
in the day looks just

out of place, high
& blank in the sky. You know
nothing could suffice.

r.i.p. JA

autumning

When bells have stilled
and the dead tongues of stone
sit named and etched with dates:
an apple gets cored by ants.

When the sun dances
on old headstones, a noose
unravels: disarmed - the rope
comes free from its branch.

Our national time passes slow.

translated a running stream and repetition of red

Son, I wake up and I’m a fly in the shower, above the water with so much thin and brave diamonds swearing their apology. Stoplight in the relative—his humid mouth and red. The relative red color and the angles of soundless sleep. The alone control, son. Wire, I awake to flight in the downpour—to leave—to go the lines. Plants of consolidation and the jesters of a shoe. O it will be supposed that you remember who, good of timber, it was absent from the hearth. It is a locked month of payments—bathed mouth and the relative red color—the calculation and the platform barriers it. The single direction, wire, from one state to another, developed of individual where we are all levitating in our feet. What it has colored the gas-carried aircraft to go. In the corners sleep one inter-country that is built by one single house. Singed the exits sleep whole numbered and hold onto the hinges. This part is always wide and hot, but none can climb under the reticular mesh, the night—can climb in bottom the grid at night, threads wake I the flight. A piece of clothing that it peels behind. The relative red color I center. Thus red of the stoplight in the relative one—keeping better in the articulations and the important persons. Down it I drip off? Peels that he says it and is transmitted to the sky with small brass band, with small sheet metal music. Put together with beautiful precision.

It's tired for a sunday nite

or I am.

The spare language we use or save. Here's a description of every thought we've ever had together: blank blank blank.

Diced and snake-eyed. I forget who I'm talking about, ok?

I pay my loans in installments. I wash my dishes with a rough sided sponge. I wish my friends were a constellation I could crawl up next to.

My body was four-sided once and you rolled up to it with your limp and heather. You knocked my ribs around looking for a way in, looking for answers.

Wait, the phone's ringing. Wait, the tapwater's dusty. Wait, there's a stranger handling the door.

My sign is a cramp-handed ego. You're laughing like the grapes have gone drunk. We'll sit in the rain wet shadows with our mouths shut, peeling away the tart skin from the fruits we stole.

Some garden, this. Wait, what are those starbursts on your chest...

football: damn the eagles' eyes

or maybe not. maybe damn the eagles' special teams players eyes but this does not bode well for the oncoming season. to lose to Green Bay on opening day...oof! it may well be a string of sad sundays. if anyone was wondering, yes, i'm a birds fan, even in this age of player ownership and fantasy decentralization. (and the notoriously injury-prone d. mcnabb is my fantasy qb in two separate leagues--keep that knee safe!) it made me feel good to hear marshall faulk pick the eagles to go to the superbowl this year. it's pretty much a wash for any nfc team, considering the strength of the teams all across the afc, but i'd still love to see the iggles make their way to a loss at the end of the end of the season. who knows? indy and new england could play each other and decimate each other's health and well being leaving only a surprisingly strong looking pittsburgh team, a san diego team which may well have the most individual talent in the nfl and a cincinatti team, anyway, you get my point...the lovely and unproven nfc east will be a battleground--an ugly and low scoring battleground. or it won't be and dallas will have a stellar year and i'll have to get into a fight with dino about this some weekend over an egg, cheese, and ham sandwich and some coffee while my dad tries to figure out who it is that's come over to us and chatted him up for 10 minutes.

when i was just starting my teen years, i used to get dressed in eagles gear from head to toe and as the team floundered, inevitably, i would grow angry. serious angry. stomping and shouting and throwing of things and kidcursing, leading eventually to a change of clothing and a change of channel to the afc coverage while my father hung clothes out to dry (even into the late autumn when the socks and undershirts would take a few minutes of being indoors to lose their hanging shape) and made some kind of meal which we'd house together in between games. usually a pound of pasta that would disappear magically as the day grew dark and houselights came up. most sundays involved a late afternoon nap, sometimes all the way through the second half of the late game. immobile sundays.

and yes, i realize there is no consistency to anything that happens in/on this space. maybe that's too bad, but i like things that shouldn't readily be seen together (like chats about football and a renamed map of the heart) and i like how life produces a vast difference in people's interests.

maybe next will be a list of things that i think other people should like with a comparison to things i like. but who in hell cares about any of that? aside from every magazine that ranks anything according to people's preferences?

i am not a magazine. i like you all, whoever you are. thanks for being here and bored enough to read this. Go birds!