I’m going to walk into the living room and tell everyone I love them. Here I go.
Be light. Be light on your feet. Or lighter than that.
A marching band. A swarm of bees.
A collapsible font resembles crushed rock spiraling through space. Letters spinning out of control. One long, drawn-out whisper. A breath to fill your ear with words.
Well, I was checking my grammar at the red light.
Certain things should be carried for years until their meaning becomes apparent.
Recycling is every other Monday starting next Monday.
Binge drinking and economic failure go hand in hand.
Larger on the inside than out. It should please no one to leave this space with a known result.
Where it becomes a line across a canvas. A muted straight line. Black. Traveling across the canvas.
An eighth of an inch wide. Black. Across the canvas.
How to live how you live is how to write how you write.
Wit is coming.
She is, really.
Makes nihilism have curves.
Softens the softenables.
Elbows always on target.
Making serious fun creamy.
The danceable parts of a conversation.
I’m a segue humorist.
In the planetarium he looks at his feet. Fidgeting with a bus pass.
Garbage day is Monday.
A sentence disguised as thought.
Noise is life. There’s no great desire to say everything.
Your lack of an active eyebrow will undo you.
Dear Dresden, said the perforations. Light shining through that one art project we call, for the last time, Plummet.
Dissimilar things align and come into focus – the byproducts of which reveal greater surface area. A better third.
These decentralized thoughts. A basket filled with pickings from a known source.
Even blameless, thought Maude, moving across the food court trying to go unnoticed.
Straws left behind. Overstuffed garbage cans. Lots of living going on (here).
Maude had cajoled the attendants into giving her extra attention.
A cluster of people were detained.
The problem with poetry is it can never be satisfied.
It’s all catch and release.
The visible person must become invisible – that is the nature of things.
A foray through.
He needed to see it after smelling it first. One shape becomes what you stare at, then it changes into what you’ve been looking at. What has always been there.
How far back does one have to go?
Crashing under the weight of its own greed and vanity.
It is critical that you exist.
This. Written hundreds of times. Like this.
Just slightly on the left side of the center of the page.
You see, you are just no good.
These other things are mostly made up of people like you.
Second-guessing as you go.
The more you seek the more invisible it becomes.
That being the product is less important than the marketing of that product.
Can that be something?
Turning your fucked-up face toward and then away from the business end of popular culture.
I found my clown center.
By useful I mean your sensibilities are aroused and intentions are engaged.
It’s not wrong to need a break.
There’s an easy brown I’m thinking of for this.
This is you looking at a poster.
No satellite connection.