insomnia the aforesaid owl knocked cold with centripetal howling metal starts with the right & of course the left follows in a kind of somnambulance heads straight down the white line of a deserted midnight road all is in total eclipse the barns & chimneys cows, chickens, alarm clocks & pesticides but the owl is awake & walking down the aforementioned white line although it has been run over at least a hundred times “i can teach you! i can teach you!� it cries looking right & left with its broken eyes toward the barns & corncobs & scarecrows & of course they all follow.. a handsome troupe if you were to see it
fallacy down & up persching boulevard ladies of unprecedented height apparently aiming straight for me but always veering off left & right
both part one (for ben) a child, one & a half years old over-riding all assumptions pushes both arms into the pillow “truck!” he says sheepdog is asleep on the floor not looking for things for the unfathomable truck “oh i’m ready for beddy-byes truck! truck! truck!” old dog grunts (it is raining in his dream) shifts on the floorboards & offers an enormous sigh yes, that is true old oranges peel easier all these things child has a feather in his hand it does not matter whether or no the soul is made of wood if it is not in fact a thing to be stepped out of like a cradle or whether or not that first cry is still present a shock not diminishing as we tell ourselves whether or no it doesn’t matter child has a feather (& it has stopped raining)
making the refrigerator walk making the refrigerator walk corner by corner across the lawn making it step up the sliding door shoulder past the bastard curtains it dragging its lead, the plug bouncing in a world of its own making the refrigerator talk a gentle slam on the noggin no? then wave a threatening knife to cut its switch out, or box its ears thump its belly.. hmmm.. wiggle the wires. that’s the trick
on the plain of ego on the plain of ego nothing happens there is nothing not even maggots not even bones not a warm breeze that would outline the shapes which don’t exist there is no sun nor stars nor moon in the sky there is no weather there is no sky there is nowhere to go that is not the same as what it was before there is nothing new it is a plain an unthinkable plain nothing happens just blades of grass
the remains of a lunatic 1. i am the alterer live in a new part of the world with very little symmetry & spend my time in the hills sifting sand.. there’s no holding me back now! 2. my wife says that sometimes she catches me laughing in my sleep i didn’t know she’d been listening to me sleeping i guess that’s what happens in a new part of the world 3. recently i had all my tastebuds replaced a lot of people will say “so what?” but then their thoughts aren’t necessarily relevant 4. until just now correspondence between my wife & i had dwindled almost imperceptibly to the point where all we had left was our own two voices although even they didn’t work all the time 5. we keep our house open to all those who have left home who aren’t in love & who work on their knees.. needless to say we don’t have too many visitors 6. instead, to fill in time i calculate the load my wife is carrying on all her shoulders 7. i confess there’s more going on elsewhere
8. i own up to having worked myself into a position where i could tell you anything 9. the tide is out 10. the gigantic purple ancestor is asleep &.. 11. i have secured a position already in the ashes 12. ah well, what was it? the remains of a lunatic? 13. teeth
both part two (for george) & if i could improve on the wooden soul i would go in for mum’s shoes clogging for the toilet armed only with a kitten i would have at least two names i i i i i i
wouldn’t speak would be too intelligent would be affronted by affronts would be a master of the bottom lip would love water would be destructive & cute
& if i had to choose between mum or dad between good & bad between sea & land between happy & sad between work & play between up or down left or right.. i would always choose both