just because it's wednesday


 Just because it's Wednesday doesn't make it wending nor sail beniding in windward tailing over the river

 Because it's Wednesday doesn't mean it's not Thursday nor your loneliness the cry of your heart

 spilling at the sea



re tues day that was written to(o)


  it was written to(o) fast yet it had to be uttered

                 especially if she's in danger

                                                 needing thoughts and thoughtfulness
                                                                                  from near and far


Re Tuesday


    If she's fighting for her life or love and war
                              i don't know




    Tuesday becomes itself and I send good thoughts her way

                          Tuesday is a day like any other except it's filled with diamonds

                                           and a surgeon to heal her of  whatever ails her     ~



Monday is,


   Monday is another week, a day of other not sensing nor meaning the same soup,

           of signifier nor beauty before lies, and lies before truth's falsehood,

        her daring name and slipper toe tapping woofer,

                    Monday's yet another week of your darling smile

                                                and the city's ramble at your beck and call,

                                              and we'll top the seeds right here,

                                  the fair frame, of  blue and deep red reeds

                                                    leading gods' way,



re 2 years


everything was my fault that was my fault


~ what does that signify?

   ~ it signifies the terms of the debate  and not just that of guilt   ~




                 i was very poor
                                         it does that to you takes the bottom out

                                                  especially after you've worked for years
                                                                for something and it doesnt happen

                                                     hating yourself becomes second nature
                                                              is that it? hating oneself

                                                               did  i hate yourself? did i hate oneself
                                                    hate is a big word saying i hated myself
                                                 or playing with the persons and pronouns
                                                      'did i hate yourself'

                                                                              yourself did hate i me poor
                                                                                      was backward deprived
                                                                                                 self hatred
                                                                                      did yourself hate me?
                                                                                  does that takes bottom
                                                                                out ambition &hopes taken  away
                                                        moved out of the 'social' line up a real exile
                                                           internally banishment  usual does
                                                      it an friends dying or others
                                                            and the real line up of the clouds goes on



two years


  It's almost two years                 

             it was my fault,

                                          mine   ~


re: work


   i revise my work one way or the other 
               as its often written on the fly as it were

                and what's revision




   the work goes on the plurality of possibles the needful dust turning the burn the corner reaching its
place in eternity the life of  a deed  working its painful life over process weathering storm bearing the sun's pushy heat the cold heart of autumn about to fulfill its days the man not fathered not fathering

alone as the clack clack what is the Pax Romana

   peering over the shoulder of the mist i heard the plain  




              what was the week? a bad weather vane filled with happiness and sorrow


                               does poetry work between weeks between binds and double binds?

                                         Come forth from that hole holding your head
                                                                  High your head scarf more beautiful than beauty itself
                                                 we'll leave it and try that for now

Saturday became Sunday


Saturday became Sunday became you by hook or by crook

          night becoming night imagining what was
                     they say I don't necessarily , that desire's reign is illusion

                 Maya the mask of being but becomings arent Maya

                                            but incarnations incrementally uncovered

               but what language is it I speak calls you

                          called this bird out of danger

                              out of the mud

                                                    who am I

                Sunday becoming Monday and the land by the place she visits

                                         I won't ever see

                                    and the rain forces the earth down into itself

                                               a poor substitute for love


                           tragicomedy worries the earth of daily life
                                         the pain of sore bones overheated lungs
                                                               dying hearts
                                                               poor lovers
                                                               &those unloved
                                                     not just for weeks or months
                                      but years and year after year before a decade descending
                                     but was that night or day speaking your name?
                                                          was it the air and sun?


Saturday was Sunday


    Saturday was Sunday it became itself being me

what's that thought? one day becoming another?

  it becomes you it became you



how is it?


   how is it some of your blogs are not visible anylonger?

           C.D. spammers, robots, crooks, thieves, censorship, roving  on the surface of the web,

  then how can they be seen? don't you want your work read?

                  invitation,  as in the old performance happenings,

                                                               after all, a real poem's a happening 
          an event,

                           and if close to a million words on blogs not an event,

                  what is?

                                     after all, books aren't free ,