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Thursday, January 20, 2011

couple of things and a photo of E.R. Baxter III and D.R. Wagner from last week in Niagara Falls

I went back to Niagara Falls last week to see my family. Lisa went with me. It was very cold. one day above freezing but very lovely as well. Went out to visit E.R. Baxter III on his farm. Had a lovely afternoon and poked around the farm a bit.


Summer breaks its face on my arm.

I can’t remember how your mouth

Felt on mine. How your hand was

When I put my lips on your fingertips.

My heart dances on my spine, fooling

Me into believing that love has a name

That sounds like yours but ends before

I can reach pit and touch your hips,

Your lips, it, as they said, trips me

Past the dream house built of pale

Moonlight and forever and a day.

Up among the concordance of moon,

Sun and our loving, bop style in mouth

Jazz explaining to each other from song

To song how wild this thing is, wind,

The keys ripping past; candles made of

Fireflies and mission bells, tearing

Sheets of song into tiny pieces, Oh yes how

And howl, spurl myself dingingly, plutridly

Fornicoulated, intensely exploding in charcoal

Mouth bar-b-que laughing. There is

No further town we can be found in.

Every stop on your skin unveils the

Brisk night, irresponsible, tales told

By the blind about how the hands

Know the name, the name of all the rains,

Their particular voice, their night thoughts,

On sidewalks, opened at last, no streetlights,

No mouth of sing following. I touch

Your crazy traffic and burn acetylene yellow,

Pure green. Aircraft land in the middle of summer.

My skin stretches, explodes and contains all

The mysterious rainbows from which we reconstruct

The language of all the endless nights of our youth.


They are busing everyone

With new ideas to a single

Room. It is huge. They are

Assigned a single letter of the

Alphabet, told to

Explain themselves.

I don’t go I am able only

To speak in numbers.

Some of them are significant.

I recall there used to be

Noises coming from the sun.

I thought it was music.

A single waves breaks in

The collective imagination.

It is so quiet it seems

Ridiculous it could have meaning.

The room of ideas is opened.

It is filled with the sea.

Language floats upon it

Like garbage..

I am asked to explain this in numbers.

These are visual calculations.

They are made with language.