Posts Tagged ‘matrix’

only this moment

eight o’clock

sunday, april 24, 2011

the daylight almost gone

my window

half glass

half mirror

face floating in the cedar

bedpost in the fern

chandelier hangs from budding branches

dusk dark lines

sprawling up

against the lambent sky

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I think for me


a poem should hang

like a mobile

as the words twist


in juxtaposition,

but always in


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Knight’s Move Thinking

linking tangential ideas

off-putting to some

comes naturally to me.

Isn’t that where new ideas come from?

Don’t poets and artists build


between otherwise disjointed ideas

to let others cross?

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Time for reflection.

Ultimately – or at the limit – in order to see a photograph well, it is best to look away or close your eyes. ‘The necessary condition for an image is sight,’ Janouch told Kafka; and Kafka smiled and replied: ‘We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.’ (Roland Barthes: Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography)

I love this post… do I write, and make art in order to forget – to clear my mind? Am I driven to share in order to forget?


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knocking my head against

the wall
pounding ‘till i don’t feel it

why don’t i turn the other

no wall
on a curved surface
space/time is not flat

why do my thoughts get
written in script


so close to the plane of a page
when i want to reach though
the surface

break though
more suitable atmosphere
feeling myself in all dimensions

moving my body to breathe

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the first snow came
before all the leaves had fallen

no red, orange and yellows
some still cling
ghostly green
to the branch

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what what is need
what want is want
when wants gets what want wants
is it a burden

when want is not get
want moves us

motivation exploration ideation

but when want is get and get and get

and no give away
too heavy
to have to hold

wanting getting
letting go
not grasping
holding ideas in

balanced equations

these lines

of words

table of solutions
tucked away safe

just fitted lines

a gesture of a brush
the whole of my experience shines

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passing my past
on each corner
where i’ve walked


years of moments
on these streets

the urban landscape changing
stop motion film
my life plays out

again on these streets

what was i then
who am i now
concrete questions

i have seen these buildings go up
and down and
down and up


changing with the decades

and me
how have i been transformed
walking by these
shifting structures
five decades worth of


all this inside me
changes’ richness
moments collected
bricks up down


sidewalks once


cracked with age

five decades worth of
eye’s  inspecting
ear’s composing
finger’s touching
feet feeling earth

texture gravity evolution

making sense

five decade’s consciousness resonate still

this deep breath

memory pulled to present
open soft eye’d vision
from then to


all who’ve walked
who walk with me now
all their recollections
sensations sensed



dancing random patterns
constant metamorphosis

web of life

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when there is no thing

we share
we share


not the nothing of ease
not the nothing of freedom
not the nothing of carrying water
or cutting wood

but the crushing nothing
the no thing
of no line
to complete the other
of the poem

the nothing of

no pair
of parallel
to see myself
being seen
or to see
with mine

nothing of just me


seeing with these eyes
completing that verse
finishing those chores

the no thing becomes

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what is here
in front of me
clean and dirty laundry


throwing treasures to the floor
recorded music resonates

my sadness

if i think about detachment

don’t own the un-mated sock
or the dishes
in the sink –
if i don’t own the cats
clawing at moths

and ripping the screen

do i own my sadness

what is there
behind me

distinctly discernible
patterns of pain
expectations, explanations, reasons and rational
big because-es

do i own my past
my sad specters

what is here
in front of me

cloudy morning
cats moving inside
breeze outside
hear the summer
soak in the green
fractal and chaotic patterns

of living leaves

do i own my future
my sadness sits

i watch it
i will not will it

it moves
on its own time
no different than
the cats
the leaves
the breeze

the dishes

the clean and dirty laundry

the solitary sock

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