Three After Racine

Honor, without honey, is a mere malady.

After honey is honor, and then malapropism.

Honor is too fit, yet sweet after the honey of an argument.

Gatherings

A thin, crimped stuff –– occasional friendship.

Toward a Ruderal Sublime

Rooted out –– what remains is to our delight.

Emerson, on Depletion

Our moods do not believe in each other.

The Prior Artist

If I feel anything, it's apart from the precedent.

10.25.10

You're always young on this cracker earth. Quit angling for the impenetrable precedent. The point is to be thankful for the ducts.

Domains & Intents: 7

Ludwig in the manic phase: "Visual space has essentially no owner."

And that's exactly what I want to know -- what essentially has an owner.

• This ruthless space without attribution.
• This "disputed language."
• As if one, a prior art.

All Good Poems Are in a Suitcase...

...on a baggage rack, on a train, in an anecdote by Hitchcock about the Scottish Highlands.

Julian Assange listens to the story, but refuses to point to the suitcase.

He's keeping a low cover, twisting his drink tickets between his fingers as if they were plot coupons in a story vehicle about narrative progress. He thinks if he can crack the suitcase, he'll have bought himself a new life.

All good poems are effectively autobiographies of the macguffin.

10.23.10

A friend's status message always reads: "warm & mandatory."

And I always think, this must be the father's voice.

24

That the world is replete, and repetition merely a spoken word.