Happy Birthday, Sean!

“Sean Randolph as Tom Sawyer” or
“Fine Fury and Frantic Gesticulation”



schoolmaster exacting a nothing revenge

although no dignitaries of left pink hair

scholars' exercises (a nursed religious all)

not delightful of lightest pleasures [how]

sweet etc. and not dark-complexioned

own lightning-pointed hope

speech—"eloquent" and number-referred—

as now determined over lower possession

how sign-painter's exactly avenged nap—

rusty and nightmare-destructive—

only listened (proud human!)

.sad entire attention…now rag about note.

a tangle of boughs

are them and nearly grumbling

let us each baby on using its gloss heart

short us the way a window lies unusual glad

or bless an old kettle that he shows

who are fine and used to good singing

and thinks everyone goes a noticed lady

among trees, new-cut to give life's

end, one for each genuine bit of how

until a thing as genuine as fear

gone up a garden of hesitant striding

every buy-out a bill of give-up

heigh-ho shall go treading,

at night, a glad glad lading

grumbling until the next thing is grown

"do you come here often?" by joe balaz

apocryphaltext Vol. 3

How to Attach a Door to a Door Hole

I started changing my life. A DIY project I could really follow through. I was a grackle for a million years and I flew down from my grackle nest and there was a drill bit to drill the pilot holes. A gate edge I perched on some new thing entirely flecked with chiseled matter and level as the frame. I hammered into the perch a rune to mark a position for quarter-inch screws. I scraped into it a mysterious misnomer and drilled pilot holes and begged a carte postale to make me known, the alignment of my credit due. I feigned indifference to the sweating brow. Screwed up tight. Made feckless alignment good. God gave me this brow. On it sweats a golden age. I will take this city and make it smooth and round. What city? Must have been a map error. There are no rules for how you choose the numbered bolts. Out here there is so little but ground and empty cellar and many leagues to any sober mind. The meter clumpy. The earth spongy. Having these things texturized helps the feet to guide the wobbling torso. Door edge. Gut strings. Door bolt. Dinosaur flashes of a deep deep brave. The alignment of the pilot holes, the same height both sides, the grackle nest, the rune, the drill bit centered on the screw.

Barely Buried Treasure

I pick a millionth knick-knack.
Hair. Put it on da blade-shelf.
I back up slowly slippers.

Less ninety degrees,
draped in knees. Pointed
toward the nor'eastern dour.

I invite you over make
a slipcover for your head.
Big big fleurs all tiny ties.

Grandiose. Two dry
powders and a cheerful pot.
Listless cat. Not a breach.

Go on plucky'll do it.
Keep it stopping leaks.
Keep yer stockins sleek.

I grant you a bright dollop
and on it sprinkle of dill.
We hove here like its picnic.

You're so sure I cooked it
out of a box. I'm still missing
you curing my showboat.

Many exact grapefruits
hollowed out. Paneled objects
striking I blend om in.

Edge: a Reading Series of Emerging and Younger Writers

May 20th, 2008 at Casa Libre en la Solana