it's a grainy so

bonds up & down its lettered lines

Poetry Month

So here goes, I'm going to try and post a little something each day this month. if i lag, some days will be ketchup. Right now I'm hungry and cutting purple paper. There are book pieces all over the living space and my phone juice is low. The next post will be something for reals, yo.

It'll follow the same format as last year's April. Entries will be time stamped by when they were started. There might be some pucks and some pictures. Here's to production methodology and a starting engine sound.

crash crash

goes the baby bash

for some reason this got stuck in my head today after a nap.

here's a picture:


and there's a play:
Ol-K*Z-lO

in a couple more days i'm to start the month long posting again. and some kind of pilot.

hope you're all moving well into spring regardless of your positions
(personally i'm behind many things pundits would paint me in a terrible light for)

here's to terrible light and to covers for everyone and to things that move and betterment

Afternooning--saving daylight

Steven Karl's (Ir)Rational Animals

Is out now from FGP! It's a great book by a great fellow and it's got a cool cover and all the goodness you could want for a few buckaroos. You can order a copy at flyingguillotinepress.blogspot.com




There will be more stuff coming up in the way of the guillotine shortly. And happy International Woman's Day!

flashing wings that bark

so in the light of having my students do the automatic, i figure it's worth trying out the hat for a bit. it's easy to contradict oneself in the morning, the way the pajamas make fun of everything around them.

I'm a wall for walking and this half sandwich won't quit balling itself up.
Maybe not, the gears seem to stick when everything that's made water rushes around. In three days it will be stars like a forest above us. Inside my favorite parts are the sky. Grand and handsome a stadium for what we can't know. Keep popping the corn, keep handles on the stovetop and your hat in the mirror for when you need to take it off. a whole room of ghosts etched into the paper--Bowie says the bewlay brothers is like a parchment and so song tuning groped out like seas and seas of sirens and no sailors drowning. I keep saying we like I know you. And this is another way of brining a body back up from the ground. Wanton, shaky fingers dusted and printed. A sway to the blood. A bay to erase with the sweep of a palm. Don't forget.
Don't.

And shuffle. And walk.

the flung in the moth of it

swords in all the dreaming. some alarm, but not b-larm. harm.

so i'm trying to get my students to let go of their consciousness a little bit. this surrealism course. and a couple of them seem to want to stay very much in control of their thoughts. it's going to be interesting to see if and when they step back from that position. and i've got to get my feet soundly somewhere into what feels like ground. that's slow mechanics though.

last night's sleep was made from pitted fruit. a basket worn to edge out a flood. spit and shine on the moon's dark behind. a lap of crumbs for the television viewing and i fail to mention current events because they'll stop being crowded with noise as soon as we forget them. first in line for this, a book of sayings--they erase themselves as they're mumbles. mouth marbled and stony. for the tour of france, keep the ticket you got with your umbilical cord--its a stamp on the blood or a courting with butter the things you eat in the morning.

i'll sort out the shirts and the daggers but only dream in monochrome when sleep comes down off its rocker and sips the whiskey flavored water that grunts from these faucets. shiny fixtures and plants that are drunk with their grain. simple pleasure is and is and is.

you are the rock i am thankful on. happy tuesday.