Oh the bell no longer rings nor do shouts and games erupt but the building remains.

Oh the bell no longer rings nor do shouts and games erupt but the building remains.


From Tangle Foot Tales

Suggested Magic

brown round rocks lie all around like artifacts of an ancient archaelogy age to ageless cratered creviced chipped ice cracked like cherished     Chinese Tea Pots &Cups MING?      perhaps but  still it is interesting to note how time acts

somewhere a Belle Epoque Cloche chimes its celebratory bell ringing  A Wedding? yes, yes that’s it    Virginal cloud sails drift by & I watch complacently from the stream bed     I AM A TROUT    watching for the SKY PEOPLE CANOES to pass

O   Illusive Elusis    long lost logis        ancient home page of our formidable foundation        we yearn to return to your altar    sadly we altered our course drifted away got    caught    down stream wind ward  when we hauled our soul ships ashore on a fear flawed forgettable foreign  firmament

     there we were aliens         didn’t know all the protocols & so were force fit fixed in some   forever NOT of our chosing made to practice to perfection perpetually purposeless painful proceedural papers of processes in progress We cried out: ARE WE INSANE?              NO: Said our Masters    still we were whipped with    Violet Violence our natural/native logos became as useless as Velvet is to Iron

Given we are given vision   of what in a certain way are scale models of potential & kinetic energys    cognitive understanding of content an intuitive sense of context   form & function we should see ordinary events as inspiration for new combinations If we did amazing insights would flourish    some Divine Purification would lead us to uncommon thought the perception of painters would be ours and perspective would become an exercise of progress in process      Disbelief would suspend  as all our notions are now: Outside The Box       & we would come home no longer aliens

Stars intertwine    form a relationship     a woven portrait     of actual fragrant acessories        a public uprising would occur hard stone amphibians would be cornered     night club twinklers would delete ardent Papal messages snarled toads deaden the steamy spring cheaply made bullring cheers give enthuisastic magazine title  ending for 7 numbers   model sagas  Rumanian coins   slang fires this object staple alternative fold in disco skirt sect  bonded septa rented C.P.A.S some real requirement & not destiny or other   another name for outer auspices the sound of air   escaping  an apiary tiny bits of smooth&shiny change       are suggested magic


Denise Levertov

On Olson’s Maxim:
“No ideas but in things, doesn’t mean ‘no ideas.’ Nor does it specify: ‘No ideas but in everyday things, modern things, urban things’ No! it means that: poetry appears when meaning is embodied in the figure.” We need a poetry not of direct statement but of direct evocation: a poetry of hieroglyphics, embodiment, incarnations; in which the personages may be of myth or Monday, no matter, if they are of the living imagination.”

Denise Levertov…


From Personist Poems: A Beginning

What I Want
Wht I want is/an impossible language/1 that is/im
probably translatable/&then I want/this
language/2 b/a language/so full/of/&/in/love/w/itself
that when spoken/will/kiss the ‘mind’s eye’/while ‘French Kissing’ the/’mind’s ear
What I want/will wipe/clean/your neurons/to make you/let you/see
hear/a new/speak   emotion/in/motion/Anima as animated automatic/automotion/atomic in effect
I want/us 2/’brain’ wave/surf/’Dudes’/I want/a tongue/so intense/interconnected/forming an/internet/a web woven/by a
what I want/is/an all action/traction/terrain vehicle/a transcendant train/2 transport us
I want/stimulating/stimulation/not/simulation/
I want this/2 b/real/live/ALIVE/a fresh Winter in Hell/I want us to/
row/row/row/our drunken boats out of the steam room/of/the old world/of/old words
What I want is this-A language that/cries out/to/all hands/on/deck:
“Damn Rimbaud, Full Time Warp/Light Speed Ahead!


Swamp Thing #1

I had my

Dad on

my shoulder today.

I carried him

through a swamp.

It was a return trip

for both of us.

Though different,  this


round, than the time

before.    Then

we walked together.

Now, it was, just me.


6 Mile Cypress Slough

Mystery in The Swamp

6 Mile Cypress Slough