On the Our

Hard time resetting.

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But

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The origin of the project was the reversal of time
The beginning would always be the end
Which made ending the book easy and
Beginning the book hard.

Because

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That's the offer one takes with a rake

Or

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The rambunctious ham bone wither pickle

Just

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Total dislodging from the consistency of what you thought yesterday

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the psychic map wraps
nicely into a square
which fits in your pocket
when you travel

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so I say to him, I say,

the real-time outlines are due

or I says to him, I says,

"never say nevers, ye? better late then ever"

but we talking

walking, sulking and barking

with the bridge with the gap middle

where the fiddles play fiddles

and the hole in the tooth grows.

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or new tricks.

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But probably have to show up with some regularity.

I'll do what I want.

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I'll come and go as I please.

Fuck it.

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((( * Chapter Eleven: The End * )))

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I now know people
Whom times are falling hard on

And I now know
This is our time.

We saw or've seen
this transition

From ease to struggle
But we've seen it we know it

And I've seen friends working
As hard as they can

At jobs that don't pay
Not in this economy

I see the panic of debt
and eyes turned long

Because what can be done
To get by or give up

Let us find it.

Please

Let us find it.

And should we
Let us not nullify with gifts that sour

Let us cultivate
Let us deliver it anew

Let us be the ones
Help us be the ones

Our kid's wouldn't have to

Our future's past in the eyes of us as old
Those who make it to 90 bones turned cold

Hello 2075
Our eyes say

They pronounce 'better'
As they shut goodbye

Not better in full
Not ever complete

No stuck-up in full
Utopian dream

But what works

But what works
But what works
But what works
But what works

Or is working

What we made out of time
Not what time made with us

And that is our time
And this is our time.

And we'll make it
You'll see.

What?

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CELEBRATE WHAT?

and be despondent to who?

the time have changed fair sir.

and the water is rising.

Celebration and Rejoice!

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A leaving and letting go.

Oh God, how your opinion matters no longer!

And the Revealing of something else: The Next!

For soot is ash smeared.

The incremental layering of units that will tell.

Say: 60 new minute clips woven.

A feature length film bent around two.

Mario Kart and God.

The breaking of the game.

A left veer or infinite green shells.

Clap.

Forthwith notwithstanding.

And a spiral in which I'm protagonist.

But the incidentals grow and change too.

And what would it be.

The loneliness wouldn't be hard to act or to present.

What the new. What the new.

personality in a pouch, so am i.

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The words now sent by text bring new life to book.

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here we are in another book. hoo-ee.

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if only you knew the change that just occurred.

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what occurs to me now is that it goes on.

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and the second saying makes the first all the meaner,
i'm my own problem, you're yours.
and the thing happens again.

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jealousy ain't love and i said it again.

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i'll say it again: jealousy ain't love.

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simple guitar nothing needed force

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engorge

peel and orange

*not a spelling error

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sibilance

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or toe

tote,

tut, tut, tut

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steam boat willy in towe

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battalion battle brigade

war ship!

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whorish worship

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1 or 17

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a treasure map

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the selected typography

rail car collision

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so no more
so no more
so no more

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leave spaces to fill

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equality leave spaces to fill

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look where i can reach

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notes taped to backs are labels

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oh, dali textual

science and zen in embrace

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with tits on forehead

some beast

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and the whorish mock-up it became

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left to trial

sent wonder from after

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dip, lose grip

let to fall

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another tremor

so follow the lead

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ten times the tilt has left you

fearless evocative

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the project is failed

you clicked shut

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for all the people they had known were gone now, too.

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They wanted to leave the country, finally

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and so they did, in sickness and in health.

((( * Chapter Ten: My God * )))

2009-03-15T03:55:00.001-07:00

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now the battery on my computer is dead

and i'm writing from beyond the grave

and i'll write back soon, i swear,

or won't

and pray: for me-that i go to more bars-for-dancing

and meet more

stupid
\
passable
\
boring

girls

because i like them a lot

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mom, i want you back with dad

dad, i want you back with mom

sorry, but this is what i want for you

and i want it much

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because i can

because i must

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but will do what i am able while i am still in this

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yes, i will die
will be over

will perish

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and god-damned-it i've got to feel alive
while i am

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i've got to smoke

while as the photos of a young me differ

this is 'i am'

and i am

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and not, alison, marshall, maureen, tim, AARON, nick, dylan, JP, charles, jamie, girl at bar, girl at counter, girls at place who were met,

and people i've yet
and lovers i've yet to suggest

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god, i'm so ruined

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and the nothings they know about it

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even with all
with the Christmas Tim spent with us
with the endless parties had at mother's expense
with all the booze bottles
alcoholic nothings
and soul mate friends who aunt would discourage

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where I'll starve and learn to love it

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where an ex-girlfriend will give out hand-outs
like they are yesterday's news

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where my grandparents won't receive the thank-you-note they deserve until they're dead

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where i can't do a god damned thing

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where the night terrors crawl
where i've made a mockery of my family's past

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where i'm supposed to be

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even here, where i have arrived and am su-posed to be

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i feel it i feel it

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god, i feel i have done wrong

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"i wish she were here,"
or the rarer,
"i wish he were here"

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"i wish the four of us were the five of us"

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it is like a question

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god, the bricks and barriers it must create

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my soul is running at full steam

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if you read this regularly, or checked it, you'd know

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i am at home now

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something something something etc

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not so much the same

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and the thing that is left will be similar but

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and the editor will change things

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the first reader goes and then the editor shows up

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ought to untangle the mess a bit

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and soon - maybe next month, i ought to reread it

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because you're the reader, too, not only the writer

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or whatever the one thing is

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or a book of poetry

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but the whole life can't be a photo album

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because we don't forget how to ride bicycles

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which means nothing about not returning

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like with anything - you do it a lot and then you have to stop

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meanwhile: the thoughts pour into the unaccountable universe

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nothing to report other than a quip or a pun

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but also: the old nagging feeling of nothing-much

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or are

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they were in favor of life

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the months of only a few days

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the stretches of author-gone time

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you'd see the absences as strengths, historically

you can't walk away from one either

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