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3:15 /2 August/lc
STALKS: The
map is never not there. On the desk or thrown on the floor next to, underneath
the threshing floor: What you've gleaned is No is a clear Thing
to say. The body is taking it in, the body is writing it all down
WINNOW: What
Updike was doing when he said "Handke is widely regarded as the best young
writer, and by many as the best writer altogether, in his language
." - : was masturbating; stroking his members inside the clean
white box
SIFT: The
clean white box is what they professionally assemble when someone orders
more than a few pastries downtown. Your box is red
SHIFT: a world
like Schroedinger's cat. Tiny towns, black threads on a black river. Marked
Tree: faces like that. You wrote of a three-legged dog. Yellow-eyed
blues the day Elvis died.
WEED OUT:
Winter carving poems in stone: put lie to the young girl who
cut off her breasts
for the Lord. Delicate Self-Cutting as opposed to Coarse
CUTTING: The
sloe-eyed man came all the way from Guadalajara to bring you a hot house
gardenia. You are the voice of the wife of you singing warning
songs: each note a poppy seed
THRASHING
out some magnificent miniscule fugue: thunder eggs: some piece of the
red planet: gleanings you gather in your skirt, steal away with, bring
home to a woman said, "Call me Bitter." Said,
" Don't tell. They will fashion it in such a fashion."
THRESHES For
seven years here: people currying. You move through that/ now shadow of the
cherry tree on the thin linen curtain: a woman dancing as she is fucked.
Poetry scalds. When it takes its hand away: bruises. Airfare, white boxes:
to see herself as 'object' in a discourse made by others : another story,
another continent
SEPARATE:
distance embodied in walking away from one house and one state of mind
to another house and another state of mind ( there the red girl spoke
of the blood house that made her a red woman. The red boy laughed
easily, spoke of co-producers, promotion, careless murders); then:
CUT BACK:
Schroedinger's cat appears dead: white box stroking itself. You were never
frightened in New York or Memphis or Mexico or San Francisco. There
was always a sharp knife, some blood on it: you would find that person.
You were a lucky woman back then. Watch them, watch how it
PLOWS through:
spontaneity replaced by technocracy and the activist by the administrator.
When the fever occurs the map unfolds on the passenger's lap: she is the
wife of you who drives and drives, the right side you never listen to:
the smart move in the UNsafe haven: the one trying to find the exit you
lost as they
MOW down the
body BEHIND this flesh moving your hands: what is it to YOU - This skin?
And attached to it - eyes, mouth mapping: let it not be some perverse
strategy this inscription in bone this month of the
SCYTHE.
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