To write is to kill, that's all
						Blanchot


essorer, autoriser, liquéfier, cancaner,
the burning ice which was of course
the body between paradox
inside a tent of skin
unwrapping organs with two eyes
they call (our) planets in orbit around
lost saturday's rotisseries
and we'll all be graduate students forever
in phonetic manners metaclosure
remembering parks forget
their golf course mandates in penumbra
the homeless
settle in as antimatter at the same time
a labyrinth of flint hits syntax
as a throat tongue and six teeth form
a hebrew letter meaning aids
intellect and capital in drag
the paper occupied by paint a "had-to"
into focus drawing out to new communities
from vertigo
the prostitution of intensities
rigidity perceived in floating rags of rays still
unperceived perceived
in would-have-if-itself-at-any price comes down to
the starving in the street a grammar of those poorest secondary skins
halts falteringly at hope
pelliculates in talking grass
the incandescent emphasis
on finger-nails       a bacon strip of lip
the hand a novel being written
rotten eggs forgetting


envaser; brosser; chiffoner; partager;
creases on a map the seminal ab ovo
over dance-halls congealed through sunrise
which the world rebounds inside a plenum
turn around prismatic shadows
everything falling in a tangle of plication
the son a moon one month
the holy ghost a traveller in speech
italic malice getting books of slating words
submit to dependence
		"use me"
		"there is no me"
that system of made-up promises is not on
where it jumps not far beyond your imagination
to find itself a gust of wind
in a misprision of John Clarke's
a cowl of soul not many light years
from Lucretius
simulacra shedding what Artaud calls
the bubble wrap of the tripe uncovering
atheistic protheses
and stepping out of the communication trench
to guess a goose
graffiti friend to brick
bells with hills that scotch
on the rocks knocks over



Pub. Feb. 1999

DRC