I'm beginning to become
One of those pathetic poets
Don't I just know it

Bleak unique critique

I disgust

Obsequious can get you out of almost any jam
But wouldn't you do better to put down some butter first?

Punny cheeky Watson

What do you love
Besides the task of recording
Cognizing isn't good enough

I've got one of those things in my neck (seriously)
It hurts when you move it

I challenged the scientist and his very methods. I believe that when you talk about the full extent of a man it is hard not

You have not yet learned
All there is to know
About seeing
Don't you think?

Emily

The formative important eyes
Found nothing in the fog - of the physician's patch -




This mind is stark solemnity
To dwell upon a couch
But growing is not possible
Without Oscar the grouch




I whispered to a ventilator - Naked
as the sun-----
Hovers-----in moonlight

Who Say Nothing

Pose
Until
Umm
You
Are
Comfortable

What do I want?
What does she want?
The question

the answer could not possibly be secretary of state, could it?

How personal is your personal?

I forgive you
Open blissfully fragrant quill
Penmanship is dead
Interior monologue until pose reposes
formality takes another bow
and gunmanship
explodes

Justice and freedom have new billowships
Integral to my survival

And hardly open to suggestion
Grapenuts with yogurt or milk
The answer is obvious!

Hooray for us!

Art will swallow restraint like jello swallows coins

Too simple may berries stick
Fingers lick and slobber because

otherwise it just doesn't work

Have you gotten anywhere?
still where are the boys
Leaning heads down alleyways

Not true. Somebody.
Maintain why it is
That you took a step round on a bit of poetry you thought was finished?

Art is never finished
I was not the person who said that

He said the artist is never finished
He threw darts. He painted. I saw a painting of his that I liked.
The crucible -
What is the art of never touching a work again?
Self-restraint
There cannot be an art in such a thing as restraint
Can there?

The Slaves of Cats

Fumble more I love you
Feed straight your imperfection
Prepare my affection
Idiotic


Oh I will one day ask for perfection
Scratch and sniff
Catch a scent
Purring


Outside a hurried man takes a different road to class. He greatly appreciated the change. It was right before the anniversary of his marriage to Erica Potsen. Love travels up and down in elevators. It only distracts you from the stairs. Posterchild for the posterchildless, a posterchild for posterchildren, the man keeps right on walking and reminds himself of where he's going.

John Robertson, bird imaginer, stepping into a puddle. He thought that was funny. He, of course, was imagining birds and stepping into puddles. It would not have been funny to anybody else would it. no. Good fortune to Elizabeth, he thought as he looked at a picture of an English coin.

He kept walking down the street, mumbling little bits of songs he learned when he was in college. But he was thinking. Running over why he was singing, never answering it so much as to keep just right on singing. Louder at bits of road without any people. Never happens in New York? I sing down West End Avenue. Put a Beer in me. Never with other people. Then you get lots of people singing and it's a nuisance you've created on a residential block. Nobody ever told me to shut up, but one time a man did yell and curse at John Robertson. John stopped in his tracks. He wondered if he ever did that to anybody. He could not remember that ever happening.