always on the cusp of arriving at an imaginative spaniel

an imaginative spaniel
always on the cusp of arriving at
anvil footstep
from the
the retches of this
long after even the
have faded
as engraver and imitation
have faded
long after even the
the retches of this
from the
anvil footstep
always on the cusp of arriving at
an imaginative spaniel

It’s Not the Size of the Wand

It’s not the size of the wand,
it’s whether what the wand is being used against
is impervious to magic.

It’s not the length of the journey
it’s the miles on the tires,
the knocks under the hood,
the multiple warning lights on.

It’s not the sharpness of the curve,
it’s what’s waiting behind the bend.

It’s not the thickness of the fog,
it’s what the fog is hiding.

It’s not being late to the party,
it’s acting as if the party was a funeral.

It’s not whether the door is locked,
it’s whether you are inside of a house.

It’s not the ear against the door,
it’s the mouth inside the room.

It’s not the puncture,
it’s the prick with a pin

It’s not the gun,
it’s the ammunition
and its velocity upon impact.

It’s not the going in reverse,
it’s the stuck in neutral.

It’s not the treading water,
it’s never reaching the sea.

It’s not the void,
it’s what fills the void.

It’s not the rain,
it’s what you’re made of.

It’s not the steepness of the climb,
it’s the lack of oxygen.

It’s not how you run the race,
it’s whether you’re in the right race.

It’s not how fast the wheel turns,
it’s whether the wheel has hit the road.

It’s not the weight on your back,
it’s the 90% blockage in your heart.

It’s not the waiting,
it’s what the end of waiting implies.

It’s not the good night’s sleep,
it’s where you are sleeping
and the things you had to do
to be get there.

It’s not passing judgment,
it’s judging passing.

It’s not what has been done,
it’s the remembering.

what brush have you brought

what brush have you brought
orange, tangerine
I rinse my hair
with Listerine

I rind my hours
with mattress sores
my star spurs twinkle
just like snores

I orange my eyes
to see through my mouth
the teeth I am missing
I blame on the moths

once I became (b)light
burned dull apathy
patient in the gallows
of air therapy

I dream in the shallows
of my lungs’ draughts
with nothing to show –
a handful of aughts

if I only had staples…
if I was raised in The Maples…
now all that is left of my head
fits neatly on this bed

so what brush have you brought
orange, tangerine
don’t matter the size
just that it’s clean

there’s no smoking gun, but I’m shot

when the sick is sunk
when the suck is soft
when you’re licked and the lift
and the luck is lost
when the sins sink in
when the slink ain’t slick
when low light’s left
little’s long to list
our troubles shout
our travails trick trots
our rickshaw’s wheels
sawed off and rot
oh, there’s no smoking gun,
but I’m shot, I’m shot
no, there’s not smoking gun
but I’m shot

if runs along the railway line

if a dimension greater
if the tides roll further
if fields and other waste
if the leaf shape existing on
if electric wires combine
if organized by transparent gray
if on opposite ends of the runway
if testing glass
if equally visually
if light-dependent
if infections common to burns
if gentle along the rough branch
if the runway ends
if printed through the depth of the slab
if attributed to an iridescent Tempest
if air flows suiting
if leaving only the encircling
if in grackles dream
if the shallow places provide ideally lustre
if honey bees are secured into a small harness made from a piece of drinking straw
if every rock sustained, so likely to have been carried
if encrusted and dried every few seconds
if no less effective
if dams and floodwalls have been erected along the river
if diving air masks logbook memory
if the body is hard
if in a tandem knot
if high definition weather and its tributaries to the smaller range mantles
if at depths between
if by fitting around
if now a new for any given
if the latter width, but wider
if lapsing sunlit
if fire yellows
if map and model
if like a water lily
if runs along the railway line

partial index

Mrs. (smaller maladies rippling) (ripping)
the closure (to gain access)
the colloquium (of elks which lift-off)
the contortion (of we should automatically fail) (without waiting or asking again)
the steps (expanding space) (from an elevating work) (vaulted)
three (pools) (who would)
undeniably (fabulous) (formidable) (showering)
what (outsiders fail to appreciate) (we become attached to)
what we became (attached to the ocean) (has become)
where (from the back of) (they are long gone)

The Guiding Principles for the Care and Use of Purposes

The Guiding Principles for the Care and Use of Purposes
shall be read together to form the
Principles offer
d in the care
of Institution’s
Investigators, Staff and other persons
involved in the current use
d and relevant laws
to self-regulate and
pain perception
chronic response
as observable
acts of inducing
whatever name called
body or person
by deliberately
varying degrees of severity
or series of related
consideration by
demonstration of knowledge
for the purposes of teaching
used to reduce
indigenous or otherwise
matters to be considered
due consideration
weighed against the potential
effects on the
precision stricken
protected by a
dependent on the length of time
in an aesthetically intriguing
variety of appearances
among those that chew
beyond edibility
and threaten
shorebound surf beginners
in scattered locations
throughout Southcentral Alaska
in a deeply flawed system
of strange anomalies
in degrees of
so very clear
related questions
of these reminders
being absorbed and used
in simplicity
reunited inadvertently.

take a pack of wolves

take two nights
and call it a single dark morning

take two halos
bend them a little
add a touch of red paint
and lies
and they become horns

take a haven’t got a clue
and give it a mystery to solve
and a big reward at the end
and you’ll have a warehouse
of false leads gathering dust

take a good idea
to fast around the curve
and autopsy will show
that it was a bad idea after all

take an list of excuses
for what could go wrong
reverse them
and you have either the true possibilities
or false optimism

take a plan to stop
and keep going
and see what happens
and if you can’t stop going
stick to the original plan

take a beautiful dive into
an empty pool
and no one will remember
the graceful perfection of the dive

take a pack of wolves
and ask them to guard the sheep
and there’s no oath in the world
that can guarantee you won’t
have a pile of bones by morning

my little my

finger flashing
it goes from aching
low to high

linger splashing
it grows a part from
sky to sky

it goes and aches away
it comes in calls and fades
it hums to drum parades
it makes its trades in blades

so comes in new and
numbs to old
so ran about and
all washed-out
so easily an easeled
so greedily a sealed in

to ends they’re flashing
from hello love

finger playing
we’ll grow apart
my little my –

pails by the puddles

we’ve got pails by the puddles
we’ve got books by the bale
we’ve got bails by the bottle
we’ve got valleys by the vale

we’ve got soup by the sauce
we’ve got culture by the Cage
we’ve got hours by the hands
we’ve got roars by the rage

we’ve got crews by the creek
we’ve got shots by the shoot
we’ve got works by the wind
we’ve got blisters by the boot

we’ve got lists by the loaf
we’ve got yearns by the years
we’ve got puppies by the pounds
we’ve got echos by the ears

we’ve got students by the slice
we’ve got styles by the school
we’ve got sorties by the squadron
we’ve got strings by the spool

we’ve got programs by the practice
we’ve got pumps by the priming
we’ve got progress by the halting
we’ve got ticks by the timing

we’ve got horses by the harness
we’ve got frames by the fit
we’ve got concepts by the coldness
we’ve got stains by the shit

we’ve got fish by the fountain
we’ve got schedules by the station
we’ve got losses by the losers
we’ve got wars by the nation

we’ve got verbs by the vat
we’ve got typos by the ears
we’ve got nouns by the nose
we’ve got frights by the fears

we’ve got fluids by the flow
we’ve got statements by the sentence
we’ve got grooves by the gorge
we’ve got apes by the apprentice

we’ve got fixation by the focus
we’ve got trains by the squeaks
we’ve got turbulence by the ton
we’ve got “far out”s by the freaks

we’ve got sins by the saints
we’ve got crocs by the crock
we’ve got gulls by the garbage
we’ve got lulled by the lock

we’ve got polls by the pouch
we’ve got perch by the poach
we’ve got tripwires by the perimeter
we’ve got asps by the approach

we’ve got tales by the teller
we’ve got shorn by the stories
we’ve got horns by the holy
we’ve got goats by the glories

we’ve got tears by the tantrums
we’ve got awards by the attainment
we’ve got suits by the rack
we’ve got rectors by the rainment

we’ve got priests by the pardon
we’ve got bishops by the box
we’ve got lies by the letters
we’ve got prayers by the pox

we’ve got sideshows by the stages
we’ve got buttons by the basket
we’ve got geeks by the genes
we’ve got corpses by the casket


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