...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Monday, March 31, 2014

27. Rear Window

Spoilers: In the climax, when Lars Torvald (villain) confronts Jeff (hero, though maybe creepy hero) in Jeff's apartment and then begins to shove Jeff out his 'rear window,' a series of shots shows the neighbors coming to see what the fuss is about. These inserts run in fast-motion, clearly to ramp up anxiety. Their neighborly curiosity, at a remove (they can't help the man hanging from the window, but they can rush to see him fall), accrues in a series of quicker-than-real turns of throwing open windows, rushing through gates, shifting a gaze toward the second floor across the way. The effect, of course, is made by slowing down the frame speed of the camera, and then playing it back at normal speed. Frames of action are in this way "skipped." Each insert shot is like (is it?) an example of parataxis.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

26. song, "Corona!"

This one like the others has been mixed in headphones late at night b/c people in the house are asleep. There may be lapses of various sorts--of sounds, of mix, of taste, etc.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

25. No Condition is Permanent

24. For My Cat, Killed by a Coyote

the quickness of the dash
in morning

                  you wanted to eat:
each step released, or seemed to release
chirps of agitation,
desire pent up outside
driving to a bowl in
the corner of the kitchen


preceding the ritual, scratches at
the door
pre-dawn yowling, your
limited words
              for out

raised from sleep I grabbed you
tossed you outside in
                                    I admit!—


                  each bird
                                    at your claw
I was sad about


late life
you sought the lap shunned
in youth: new presence
of children
made at times the house
loud            tense
                                    unearthing new

like when hollow-eyed beside
                  wreckage a person welcomes
a stranger’s

my lap the blanket
you are
you were

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

22. Interventions

Moses cried out to the LORD, "What shall I do
with this people?” God said Strike the rock there
with the staff you struck the Nile with.
Between her right eye and the space she has entered
the screen suggests what companions can't see:
It looks like you’ve entered a church, would you like to pray?
One step says, Remove from the oven the dish
and fish out the garlic, which I do, and the rest I do,
too, including ten minutes of cooling before eating.
Turning onto Graven Street in Tigard, OR,
the driver's alerted by a sign above the sign:
the street ends dead.
In one account he hangs himself, in another he jumps
from a cliff and his guts burst forth in a field.
One of several instances.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

21. "Take up thy mat and walk, he said before"

Take up thy mat and walk, he said before
Men, to the prone man
Descended from an unknown door
Torn in the roof,
A plan

Improvised (all plans are) by restive friends
Looking, it may be,
To dump the burden that extends

Past action that at first was undertook,
One hopes, out of love.
What they felt then, released, the book
Doesn’t tell us.
Free of

His need for healing, the man disappears,
But not before he’s
Forgiven all, which many ears
Hear, no single
Eye sees.

Some Upcoming Events

I'll be moderating a poetry panel with poets Victoria Chang, Karen An-hwei Lee, and Lynne Thompson at Literary Orange in Irvine on Saturday, April 5th.

I'll be reading poetry with with a number of other writers and musicians in Santa Monica at the next Library Girl event, on Sunday April 13th. 7:00pm

I'll be reading poetry with three other poets, the names of whom have yet to be confirmed, at the Katie Wheeler Library in Irvine on Wednesday, April 30th. 6:30pm

20. Ghostbusters

When I was a kid, my much older brother and a group of his buddies brought me to an afternoon showing of Ghostbusters. This was an event. People were lined up outside the mall where the theater was, and people were milling about the parking lot as we drove through it, looking for a spot, sitting in a massive mid-70s convertible El Dorado that was all primer and no top, AC/DC at volume emitting from the new speakers just behind the back seat. [1] 

We finally parked and went in and, whew, I lost it in there. I thought it was the funniest, most epic movie I'd seen--the jokes ("dickless," in particular), the special effects, all of it. I saw it again a bunch of times in subsequent years, and then it dropped away from me for over a decade, until about three years ago when the local theater showed it and my wife and I brought the kids to see it. [My younger son was freaked out by the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man; the ghost sex was, mercifully, lost on him.]

This past summer, our city showed it in a park, and my kids begged to see it again, so off we went. I noticed for the first time a massive incontinuity in the movie. I'm not the only one to have discovered it, as a quick perusal of the movie's IMDB page makes clear.

Here's the sequence of events:

1) Ray (Dan Aykroyd) and Venkman (Bill Murray) come back to headquarters, exhausted and burned out from their booming business busting ghosts. Murray says to Aykroyd, "You're not looking good." In fact, neither of them "look good": Their uniforms are filthy, their hair is mussed up, and, if I recall, they both are in need of a shave. Waiting for them in the office is Winston (Ernie Hudson), who has come to apply for a job. Ray is too tired to interview him; he just says, "You're hired." Venkman, meanwhile, retreats into his office.

2) Cut to a scene where Dana (Sigourney Weaver) is leaving an orchestra rehearsal in another part of the city, and waiting for her is Venkman, who is washed, shaved, and full of life, in part because he has a thing for Dana. The reason he meets her is because he has information for her regarding her haunted apartment. After sharing it, he cajoles her into agreeing to go on a date, and as she departs with a friend, the camera offers us a long shot of Venkman in the picturesque plaza where he remains, doing a few twirls of a dance, a la Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

3) Cut to the Ghostbusters office, where the villainous EPA representative, Peck (William Atherton), arrives. He meets Venkman in his office, and he wears the same dirty uniform and grimy sheen he was wearing in the scene prior to meeting Dana in the plaza. Peck threatens to shut down the whole Ghostbusters enterprise unless he's aloud to investigate it. Venkman refuses, and Peck warns that he'll be back. Downstairs, Ray is training Winston on the ghost-storage unit, and Venkman comes down to tell his co-workers, including Egon (Harold Ramis), about Peck's visit.

What's obvious to me now is that scenes 1) and 3) represent one, essentially unbroken sequence. At some point after principal photography, the filmmakers realized that they needed to insert a scene where Venkman and Dana flirt under the pretense of business, and that the flirting had to go both ways--e.g., she had to agree to the date--so that there's some emotional stake when she is, later in the movie, imperiled. [3]

This kind of thing happens in movies all the time, particularly in the practice of re-shoots, where insert scenes are filmed to provide "coverage." I'm always distracted when I'm watching an over-the-shoulder shot of two characters in dialogue, and the foreground character, whose face is mostly turned from the camera, is speaking in cadences not matched by the movement of his/her jaw. I think, "Oh, they had to re-write the dialogue there."

But this is a extended sequence interrupted by a very different sequence, as if space-time fabric were briefly ripped and patched by another section of the continuum.

This sort of thing happens all the time in composition. Think of the McCartney section of "A Day in the Life," or of the Benji chapter in The Sound and The Fury. There's this line in John Updike's A Month of Sundays: "All middle-aged men, we sit each at our table clearing dry throughts and suppressing nervous gossip among the silverware." At the bottom of the page is this narrator's footnote: "Meant to type 'throats,' was thinking 'thoughts,' a happy Freudian, let it stand." Or perhaps, in art, you think of someone like Robert Rauschenberg, or countless other cutters-and-pasters in a video, music, sculpture, whatever. . Making a poem means re-arranging stuff, so does writing an essay. But all these composed pieces either hide the seams or purposely leave the seams, so their evident constructedness becomes part of the visual/aural information. [4]

In Ghostbusters the audience is not supposed to see this constructedness. I didn't, for thirty years. One sentence cuts into another sentence, without transition, like a massive Twinkie landing in New York City.

[1] A facts-slightly-fudged [2] account of this incident is described in a poem of mine that's been rejected by fine journals everywhere.
[2] For example, in the poem, the movie's Ghostbusters 2, not Ghostbusters, a choice made for the sake of some internal rhyming. 
[3] Venkman had flirted with her earlier in the movie, but his interest in Dana wasn't reciprocated. 
[4] Scripture (and other ancient texts) contains passages, like the scene of the woman caught in adultery or the three or four "Isaiahs," that are dropped into the larger narrative or lyrical flow. That's an analog, I suppose, to what's being described in this post, though the process is obviously different.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

19. Song 3

18. Marianne Moore, on prose

Did any prose stylists help you in finding your poetic style? Elizabeth Bishop mentions Poe’s prose in connection with your writing, and you have always made people think of Henry James.
Prose stylists, very much. Dr. Johnson on Richard Savage: “He was in two months illegitimated by the Parliament, and disowned by his mother, doomed to poverty and obscurity, and launched upon the ocean of life only that he might be swallowed by its quicksands, or dashed upon its rocks. . . . It was his peculiar happiness that he scarcely ever found a stranger whom he did not leave a friend; but it must likewise be added, that he had not often a friend long without obliging him to become a stranger.” Or Edmund Burke on the colonies: “You can shear a wolf; but will he comply?” Or Sir Thomas Browne: “States are not governed by Ergotisms.” He calls a bee “that industrious flie,” and his home his “hive.” His manner is a kind of erudition-proof sweetness. Or Sir Francis Bacon: “Civil War is like the heat of fever; a foreign war is like the heat of exercise.” Or Cellini: “I had a dog, black as a mulberry . . . I was fuming with fury and swelling like an asp.” Or Caesar’s Commentaries, and Xenophon’s Cynegeticus: the gusto and interest in every detail! In Henry James it is the essays and letters especially that affect me. In Ezra Pound, The Spirit of Romance: his definiteness, his indigenously unmistakable accent. Charles Norman says in his biography of Ezra Pound that he said to a poet, “Nothing, nothing, that you couldn’t in some circumstance, under stress of some emotion, actually say.” And Ezra said of Shakespeare and Dante, “Here we are with the masters; of neither can we say, ‘He is the greater’; of each we must say, ‘He is unexcelled.’”


Friday, March 21, 2014

17. "Suddenly there appeared to them"

Suddenly there appeared to them
Moses and Elijah, talking with him.
Afraid, they asked should they make
booths—for sun-sheltering,
the explanation goes. This is what
you do for the venerable few
praised in your life or at its edges
by story and family and song.
That is, should they show up,
in person, out of thin air.

I once exited my local market
as Cameron Diaz walked in.
I paused at the automatic door,
thinking, is there anything more
I need to buy? Whatever else
I can’t say, she wore jeans
and looked me in the eye.
It is rare to encounter a god.
I had no one to entreat.
No voice from a cloud
hastened her appearance.
She was alone, appeared so,
not speaking with anyone.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

16. diptych

15. Two Dads on the Train

Plaid shirt, brown pants
next to plaid pants, blue shirt—
the scene is rarely seen
nowadays. So much plaid!
So little in our era
that's be-legged!
Their sons play games
in plaid shirts, plain pants
across the aisle I’ll use
to exit and remember
to make the poem exist.
I was a riding dad, too,
once, my sons at home
game-playing, maybe,
wasn’t there to know.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

14. Gustav Mahler - Symphony No.9 in D-major - IV, Adagio

One week ago, Cade Bengart confessed,
“I’m not an avid classical music listener."
Thus Cade rhetorically made his claim - 
that this is “the most beautiful piece
[he’s] ever heard” -  appear credible
to his audience of strangers. 

Two days later, Charles Frizzel encouraged Cade 
to try 5th Adagietto and 6th Andante as well.
There's no way to tell as of now if Cade
took this advice, since a reply
to Mr. Frizzel’s gesture of good will
and shared fandom has yet to be recorded.

Monday, March 17, 2014


I applied for and received a commission to make something for Spark & Echo Arts, in New York. They are working on creating an illuminated Bible, with dance, sculpture, painting, poetry, fiction, theatre, music--you name it--doing the illuminating. They have an ambitious and preposterous goal of getting something made for every passage of scripture. I was asked to make something inspired by a passage related to poverty, and this is what I made. The poem gave me a lot of trouble. Below is a picture of the pages of drafts and notes I made, most of which was abandoned. Anyway, the whole project is worth checking out, and if you're a maker--religious or not--and interested in what they're doing, you should apply for a commission.

13. North by Northwest

Syntax of movies: Elision. Since the last one of these I wrote was long long long, this'll have to be short. I want to talk briefly about an elision at the end of North by Northwest. [Be warned: spoilers.] At the climax, Eve Kendall (Eva Marie-Saint) and Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant), running away from the bad guys, end up hanging from the top of Mount Rushmore. Yes, it's just that awesome. (Or silly, if, that is, you've come down with a bad case of what Hitchcock called "the plausibles.")

After Roger pulls himself to safety, he reaches down to pull Eve up, who's still hanging by her fingers. It's not looking good. She's slipping, desperate, and he implores her to reach. [1] We see a tight shot of his hand and hers stretching and eventually just barely clasping, and as he pulls, he pulls her up into a bed in a sleeper car in a moving train, where Roger and Eve are now husband and wife, beginning their honeymoon. The edit elides her rescue, their reunion and embrace at the top of the mountain, a final confrontation with the villain, their wedding, and a whole host of other events that precede their arrival in the train car. [2] The delight is not only formal, in the elegance of the cut and the concision the cut enacts in the movie, but in the fact that our brains are stimulated to piece together what the film withholds. We get to participate, actively, in making the movie make sense. Just as we're piecing together what we've missed, one final edit, the last, famous shot of the movie (not described here), exploits our ability to figure things out in a visual pun that, in context, is comically naughty. One of my favorite point-to-a-ble examples of what cinema can do.

Quick examples from American Lit spring to mind, where this same sort of thing happens: The last lines of Elizabeth Bishop's "Filling Station," & the passages that end the apartment party chapter in The Great Gatsby.

[1] I can't remember the exact dialogue here, because Youtube, which has the clip, won't load for me.
[2] An earlier scene of the movie takes place with Roger and Eve in a similar train car. The earlier scene was about romantic frustration. This one is about romantic fulfillment. The audience has been prepped for this.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

12. Take the River

"Take the River," made, from soup to nuts, today, 3/16. My mastering deck doesn't export files except on CD, so this thing's not properly mastered. That means it must be turned up.

Friday, March 14, 2014

10. "You say wispy I say abstract"

You say wispy I say abstract
You say senseless I say tactile deprivation
I say phantasmic impalpable finger blind
You say love is an idea not a reality
I say, too many thin mints?
You say, this makes me miss your class
Everyday for forty days, you say
Forgive, I say I say invisible to the touch
You say absent to the touch
I say intangible to the--You say
Brian already got intangible
I say whoops oops just realized
You: disembodied I: unhaptic
como: quijebo Yo todo: whaaattt?
You say pretentious hoo-haw
Jonathan, Jonathan, Betty, and Taylor
favor that assessment     Hedwynn, Frank,
and Karen ignore it altogether
Some say a gopher snake’s tongue you can see
Others say it’s too small to feel
Earth says numbing while moon says touchlucent
The teacher to the student slightly off
The student to the teacher poetic license
They all say, You are all so helpful!
Them say nothing but quietly approve the query
I’m tired I’m making some-
thing everyday cut me some
slack           thank you          You sigh You
say man, I wish

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Bill Knott

This hits close to home, given my weaknesses as a writer, yet I'm grateful for it: “Lyricism is the elaboration of a moment’s cowardice.”

Too bad I had to discover it on such an occasion.

A story I love about the man is here. Some nice tributes, with poems, can be found here, here, and here.

A poem from The Quicken Tree that's been on my office door for years:

9. found object

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

8. We Walk With the Kids After Dinner

Porch light on our left throws picket-fence 
shadows onto the sidewalk, an intangible 
ground-ladder we step on.
Our feet feel nothing but our own weight.
We pass on, and a tree has interposed
between the light and our shoes.
Concrete's the color of maple tree bark.
Another light, another fence, more shadows cast
a step-stone path leading to the next house.
Three stories, beige-painted, and recently made,
its bright red door means to blunt
its impositional prominence, 
as if to say, All in good fun! 
That’s how our kids were made,
all in good fun, but exactly when 
the silver spade broke earth at the hand 
of a hopeful, vain, dork-of-a-man, 
wearing Brooks Brothers and hard hat,
is hard to say. What I know: there's a shape 
to the world that wasn’t there before.
The bungalow this house replaced exists
in memory, weightless and impalpable
as the shadows back there that led us here.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

7. "when you deny yourself something you need"

when you deny yourself something you need 
       and desperately want
style your hair with gel or mousse or what 
       have you, make sure it’s clean
and combed, unless your jam is mussed-up, 
       or maybe both a bit,
like mine, friend, which is arrived at via 
       products made by, I’m sorry,
axe, and be sure your pores are clean your nose 
       is powdered etc
and no moaning, remember, no letting on how 
       deprived you feel,
no dropped hints even, like sorry I’m low energy 
       I’m a little tuckered out
just cuz, oh it doesn’t matter, for then people will be 
       all oh yes good for you
and that’ll be all the good for you and it’s gone as 
       soon as they’re gone from
your presence, which means gone, and 
       remember it’s when not if

Monday, March 10, 2014

6. American Hustle

I enjoyed writing little capsule reviews for the now-dead District Weekly. I was paid peanuts but had fun boiling down, in 75 words, why someone should see a revival Chinatown or Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.

I wanted, as part of this lent project, to write about movies again, for whatever reason--maybe just to get more practice writing prose. So, when, a few weeks back, students in a class I taught read "How to Write a Theological Sentence," by Stanley Hauerwas, I was given some idea why I was not happy with the way American Hustle ended, which I had seen just before the reading: It was in the movie's syntax! Here's are some relevant passages from Hauerwas' lecture, where he talks about Stanley Fish's book, How to Write a Sentence: And How to Read One:
...when Fish uses the word "organization," he means it in the strong sense that "the skill to produce a sentence - the skill of linking events, actions, and objects in a strict logic - is also the skill of creating a world."
... [Fish] insists that sentences are best understood as "logical forms that link actor, action, and the object of action in a way that makes available simple and complicated predications." He even argues in the early chapters of his book, an argument he will later disavow, that if you want to learn to write a good sentence it is better to pay no attention to content and attend to the structure of logical relations that can be catalogued.
The reason Fish disavows that last sentence is because the syntax, enacted in the grammar of a sentence, works on (and is worked on by) its content. Neither diction nor syntax "happens" in a vacuum. One of my favorite Public Enemy songs, despite a dated reference to Y2K and a weak Flav verse, is "He Got Game." In the chorus of the song ("It might feel good it might sound a lil sumthin'") the "game" is judged twice. [1] The first time: "damn the game if it don't mean nothin'." The second time: "Fuck the game if it ain't sayin' somethin'." The apparently more moderate term, "damn," is used to condemn meaninglessness. And to damn is a god's, not a person's, job, ground laid in the first verse ("My wanderin' got my ass wonderin' / where Christ is in all this crisis"). "Fuck," on the other hand, is used here to condemn empty speech, and that's something people--especially rappers--can do. The "F"-word gets its power here in part because of its rarity in PE's canon [2], and you get the sense that Chuck D, rapping several years after the gangsta revolution, is not only calling out the various cultures interrogated by Spike Lee's movie but those artists emptily exploiting tropes of gang- and drug-life. It also gets its power because, no matter how often the word is said in popular culture, it still signifies for most people forbidden or extreme speech. A term we're not supposed to say is used to rebuke verbal vacuousness. [3]

Despite the importance of syntax in the example above, its main power is diction-al. A pattern is established in the chorus ("damn the game") that is then, through a difference in word choice, disrupted. That disruption comes in the flow of a syntactical construction. A sentence I often say in poetry classes to help illustrate the importance of syntax is this: "I find a duck's opinion of me is very much influenced by whether or not I have bread." That's by comedian Mitch Hedberg, and the joke depends on the sentence "landing" on its last word, the spring that makes the sentence a trigger for laughter. The syntax mimics a kind of urbane sophistication in its clauses (that little "I find" at the beginning, or the formality of "is very much influenced by"), which is subtly undermined by the premise--the opinion of ducks. This is cocktail party banter in form if not subject, banter tinged with surreality by the presence of a single word, "ducks." [Hauerwas: "What we need to say theologically is that the truth is in the details, and it is the details that produce sentences that matter."] Rearrange the sentence, so that it begins with "Whether or not I have bread," and the comedy dies. In other, obvious words: Syntax matters.

Which brings me, finally, to American Hustle, a movie I enjoyed as I sat in the theater, but which bothered me after the fact. I was bothered most by its structure [4], which undermines its moral seriousness. A brief contextual rundown (and spoiler alert for those who haven't seen it): The most unambiguously "good" person in the movie is Carmine (Jeremy Renner), the mayor of Camden, who works an illegal political bribery scam with con-man Irving (Christian Bale) and his mistress, con-woman Sydney (Amy Adams). Both Irving and Sydney, unbeknownst to Carmine, are working as FBI informants. Carmine gets involved in the scam, the details of which are too complicated to include here and which I can't entirely remember anyway, largely to help his constituents, a mostly impoverished population whom he genuinely cares about. Carmine trusts Irving, whom he sees as a friend, having no suspicion that Irving is working a job that will put Carmine behind bars, away from his loving wife and children. It's clear, too, that Irving has affection for Carmine and feels badly about entrapping him, but, as is true of most anyone in a situation like this, Irving would rather use his informant status to avoid prison than go down for a friend like Carmine.

Here's where the problematic syntax comes in. When everything eventually blows apart, Irving goes to Carmine's house to tell Carmine that he's been duped and will shortly be arrested by federal agents. Irving honorably lays everything on the table, and in person. It's a painful scene, especially as it takes place in Carmine's home, and it involves a clearly saddened Irving confessing his own involvement in the scheme that's going to take Carmine from his family and ruin his political career and his chance to use that career to help a people he genuinely loves.

Several scenes follow, where storylines are resolved. Irving's estranged wife finds love and happiness, the various threats to Irving's life and well-being dissipate, and Irving and Sydney end up, in a beautifully composed series of shots, living "happily ever after." All the "words" of a serious movie are there, but the syntax makes the film, at the end, frivolous. Irving and Sydney's happiness has come at great cost--to others, not to them. They're able to be together, in their opulent comfort, because they were instrumental in sending Carmine to jail. Aside from a brief plea to have his sentence reduced, he is forgotten in the lyrical intensity of the last montage of scenes. Had Irving and Carmine's confrontation come a few minutes later, the movie might have made Irving's and Sydney's happiness more ambiguous, as all our material happiness must be, for someone somewhere is paying for it.

[1] What's "the game"? You have to ask?
[2] Chuck D seems to admit this at the beginning of the second verse: "Damn, was it somethin' I said?" 
[3] It's hard not to see the use of the sample that is the foundation of the song, Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth," as an ironic critique of the 60's rock generation's idealistic but ultimately "empty" speech about social change. 
[4] Though not only by its structure. In one of the last scenes, the mobster who has taken up with Irving's ex-wife thanks Irving for "doing" his boss "a solid." That choice in anachronistic diction takes me out of the late '70s, when the movie is set, and puts me in the oughts. 

Sunday, March 9, 2014

5. Nights

"Nights." A little recorded Sunday, most recorded today (Friday, 3/14). Rushed-mixed.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

4. Gerard Manley Hopkins

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Friday, March 7, 2014

3. "rend your hearts, not your clothing"

rend your hearts, not your clothing
says the LORD in Joel, impeccably
barbered and clean-shirted
at his desk where he sits near my office.
Lately sporting earbuds—“podcasts,”
he tells me—our hellos are made of nod
and finger gun. Who isn’t undone
by day into day into weeks neverending,
of work that’s the same as it was and shall be?
No one, one’d say. Eyeing an evening of drinking,
in Joel-the-living-lectionary, as is everyone
breathing, the LORD saith much.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

1. "Ash-cross over eyes don't burn"

Ash-cross over eyes don’t burn
the sinner like a wood cross on

a bloodsucker's white breast do,
branding shadow where the symbol lit.

Instead, appearing as x-marks-
the-spot, mind-renewal drags off of

front-lobe habit-action: church
on the first Wednesday of forty days

of nothin’. The finger dipped
into gray temperatureless salve

analogues Christ’s in dust the
woman waiting for death stands on.

0. Lent 2014

[The point, as far as the "creative" part of my life goes, is to make/post something everyday for Lent. This practice does not signal any sort of spiritual seriousness on my part; it's being done on a public blog.]

Sunday: Song
Monday: Movies
Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday: Poems
Thursday: Pictures
Saturday: A word (Rest)