Thursday, May 05, 2005


Plakoe who knew everything knew nothing and

so it was the went of dish and song and dish song the honey of her hocks

her hips a horse wave in the sun a promise of nothing


Tuesday, May 03, 2005

poetic objets

before other mothers speak the name ofthe objet d' presto!
what sense maketh nonesuch!

we need to create poetic objets __ that shall by .. their famby farmy poesy of
Mona was habbin' a fit as she scoop'd her Miklton and her penserosa and allegro her nativity and born again boinkyboinky.

Jill said what was that? I don't know we just ignore it.

not the thing of making machines. mulchs of moths mouth machines.

create ob


objectivity to objectivity.

Said Mona that morning bedding the gerunds

waking the thousand genders

of her

desire spars

weMona saw junctions - disjunctions across the hand lying in space was a body-without-organs and its knight gallopin across the animate plain. so somber was the toil of her night, she was knight and knighted by the Quixote of her style and its mesh round sane.So she, Jill, waves the blind man across her passage from deus absconditus to day minus light